A Godfather in Gotham
by serendu
Summary: Harry Potter wasn't the only person going to Hogwarts with a godparent. HP/Batman crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**Author**: serendu

**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing also DC comics and their subsidiaries. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Pairing**: None

Notes: Batman/Hp xover. Because I began to read one and ended up with my own plot outline within about five minutes. This is massively different to that (other than the same characters… I think that is the *only* similarity between the two). Starts just prior to Batman Begins, continues through TDK. Obviously the timelines don't match up in the HP books/Batman films – so I've ignored them.

* * *

Chapter 1. Snapshots.

* * *

The baby cried. He smiled a fake smile as he tried to hand her back to her parents whilst the rest of the small congregation of close friends and family filed out of the church, heading for the party. Unfortunately for Bruce Wayne, Hermione Granger's parents were too intent on thanking the vicar than to take their squalling offspring from him. He shuffled the baby to a more comfortable position in his arms, hoping to calm her down.

No such luck.

He gazed down at the reddened face of his goddaughter and gave a wry smile. For the first time in a long time, here was a female who had no interest in him whatsoever, and who couldn't wait to get away.

He wasn't used to females not wanting his attention. No wonder he couldn't calm her down.

'Oh Bruce!' Hermione's mother stepped forward. 'I am sorry!' She reached forward for the now hiccupping Hermione.

'No problem Mrs Granger.' He said with an easy smile, glad to be rid of his burden, watching as the mother calmed her daughter down with practiced ease. 'It makes quite a change from the usual girls I see.'

'Now Bruce, remember – it's Helen.' Mrs Granger said, her arms full of her daughter, as she began walking towards the exit of the church, Bruce alongside. She turned to him in as they reached the doorway. 'And I can't thank you enough for this…' She trailed off, looking nervously up at the young billionaire.

Bruce put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, his actions betraying his youth. 'Its okay, Mrs… Sorry, Helen.' He said, smiling down at her, a more real smile than his usual ones. 'My father always said he would be godfather to your children when you asked him…' He looked away. 'I'm honoured to be able…'

'No dear.' She shuffled Hermione's weight to one arm and grasped his arm with her free hand. 'We're honoured. Understand?' She waited until he raised his eyes to meet hers. 'We are honoured that you would stand in for Thomas.' She smiled, letting go of his arm and re-adjusting Hermione's position. 'Of course – we wanted your mother to be Hermione's godmother… So I suppose we'll just have to wait until you get married and have a second ceremony?' She said eyes twinkling with mischief.

Bruce chuckled, the sombre mood broken. 'You might be waiting a while.'

'Nonsense.' Helen declared. 'As soon as you finish university, or college or whatever it is you Americans call your higher education – then you can find a wife!'

'Now, now dear.' Said the bemused voice of her husband. 'Less trying to marry off the poor boy!' He turned to the vicar. 'She's dreadful! If he was ten years younger – she'd be having you publish the bans for Bruce and Hermione!'

The vicar smiled. 'Alas, Mrs Granger – I'm afraid your daughter would be a bit too young for such an event!'

Helen pulled a face at her husband and then turned back to Bruce. 'Are you sure you won't join us for the party?'

'No. I would but…'

'You need to get back.'

Bruce nodded. 'I have to discuss my results… and go back to Gotham… For the trial.'

The happy atmosphere dimmed.

Mr Granger stepped towards Bruce. 'You do know – if you need anything. Anything – you come to us – you understand, my boy?'

Bruce nodded.

'Good. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you.' He smiled. 'And lets not even think about what my wife would do to me!' He walked with Bruce out of the churchyard, his wife and the vicar heading in the opposite direction to the church hall.

The stopped at the gate, Bruce turning to shake hands before they parted.

'I know you hate it – but…' Mr Granger paused. 'You do look like your father.'

Bruce looked up. 'I don't… hate it.'

'No.' He considered what he had said for a moment. 'You don't hate the comparison of looks – but hate the lazy comparison of character.'

Bruce didn't respond.

'You are not your father.' He saw Bruce flinch. 'And your father wouldn't want you to be his clone.' He said fiercely. 'Your father loved you – and your mother – very much. And ultimately – he would want you to be happy.' He saw Bruce relax. 'I get the feeling that things are coming to a head for you – is it the trial?'

Bruce nodded and wouldn't meet his eyes.

'You do what you need to do. We'll support you.' He grasped Bruce's shoulder, making Bruce look up. 'Your father supported me when I went off into Africa – even though everyone said I was crazy. Your father supported me when I came back. And your mother…' He trailed off and smiled. 'Well, if it wasn't for your mother convincing me that Helen would agree to go out with me after the first disastrous date – there wouldn't be any Hermione.' He stepped back. 'Now take care of yourself Bruce Thomas Wayne. We shall see you – birthdays and Christmas presents – that's what godparents are for!'

Bruce smiled and opened the gate before stepping out of the churchyard and heading for the car to take him back to the airport. Back to Gotham.

* * *

The girl - for it clearly was a girl, sitting against the wall, outside the house - had too much hair, Bruce noted absently as he walked up to the house, front door ajar.

The girl looked up from her book as he approached.

'Yes?' She said, putting her bookmark into the pages before closing it, keeping her eyes on the stranger now in front of her.

'I'm looking for Mr or Mrs Granger.'

The girl blinked up at him owlishly, as though her brain was still immersed in the book she was reading a few moments before. Then…

'MUUUUUUM!'

Bruce took a few steps back – nearly deafened by the volume of the girl's screech.

'Hermione!' Came a voice, from inside as the door opened. 'How many times have I told you not to yell?' Helen Granger, turned, exasperatedly from her daughter to the stranger that stood before her. 'I am sorry Mr…' She trailed off. 'Oh my…' She raised her hand to her mouth in shock. 'Bruce?'

Bruce nodded.

'STEEEEEEEVE!'

Helen Granger lost no time in hugging Bruce, whilst he awkwardly patted her back. It had been some time since anyone had hugged him – without having an ulterior motive. He quirked a small smile, glad he wasn't as close to her as he had been to the girl when she had yelled, otherwise he really wouldn't have been able to hear anything.

'Mum?' A bewildered child whined, seemingly shocked that her mother was hugging the stranger.

'What's all this commotion about?' Mr Granger stuck his head out of the door.

Helen stopped hugging Bruce for a moment to show her husband the good news. 'Look Steve – it's Bruce!'

'Bruce!' Steve Granger almost flew out of the house to give his old mentor's son a bear hug.

'Daddy?' A plaintive voice could be heard. 'Mummy?'

'Oh Hermione – dearest.' Helen turned to her daughter as Steve let go of Bruce. 'This is your godfather – Bruce. Bruce Wayne.'

Bruce smiled down at the girl with the ridiculous hair. She frowned up at him.

'My godfather?' Hermione asked, managing to inject a surprising amount of scepticism in a voice so young.

'Yes Hermione.' Her father said, grinning at Bruce before gesturing to make their way inside.

Hermione trailed behind the adults, still frowning.

'My godfather.' Bruce heard her repeat and he smiled – unlike the christening, getting her to like him this time would be a piece of cake.

'Where's he been all these years?'

Or maybe not.

* * *

Bruce raised an eyebrow at his butler.

Alfred gazed impassively back at him.

Bruce sighed, getting the hint, before sitting up and putting his paper down on the breakfast table in defeat.

'I do seem to recall Sir, that you said you would be delighted to host Miss Hermione for the summer months whilst her parents returned to Africa to continue their charitable works.' Alfred paused for a moment to see how that affected his employer before continuing. 'In fact sir, I believe you stated, to Mr and Mrs Granger: "She's only ten. How hard can it be?"'

Bruce groaned. 'Do you know which part of the house she was in last?'

'I believe Miss Hermione expressed an intention of investigating whether the building has any attics. Sir.'

'In which case – she's probably in the sewers by now.' He stood before adding. 'Sulking.'

Alfred just looked at his employer.

Bruce sighed, heading for the door. 'Another five weeks of this Alfred.' He commented, glancing at his butler's expression as he did so. Then suddenly he quirked a smile. A small smile, but a very real one nonetheless. 'She's the only girl I've never managed to charm.'

Alfred coughed lightly. 'Perhaps, sir… In the next five weeks…?'

'One can only hope!'

* * *

Bruce Wayne sat hunched in his chair, looking out across Gotham. The panoramic view made no impact.

'A call for you. Sir.' Alfred held out the telephone. Hoping that this, of all things could break his employer out of his funk.

'No calls.'

Alfred cleared his throat, making his employer turn his face towards him. He almost flinched when he saw the grief there. It had only been a week since Rachel had died.

Bruce waited.

'I'm sorry sir, but I must confess being more afraid of the person on the other end - than of you sir.' He handed Bruce the handset, before leaving his employer alone.

Bruce Wayne waited until the footsteps had died away before he put the handset to his ear. 'Hello?' His voice barely audible.

'Uncle Bruce?' A tremulous, young, female voice spoke. 'I'm sorry about your friend.'

The tears that Bruce had been unable to shed since the realisation she was dead finally slipped down the worn man's cheeks. 'So am I, Hermione. So am I.'

* * *

'So – what's it to be? Roedean? Eton? Oh – that's only boys isn't it? They'd probably make an exception – if I asked.' Bruce Wayne said, glancing at from his goddaughter to the public school brochures he held, before looking back at her. He had no problem with spending his money on one of the few people on the planet who had enough intelligence to work out a secret that many criminals, including his nemesis – the Joker – still hadn't figured out. Especially since she'd managed it when she was ten. And that was before she'd lived in his home for six weeks.

Hermione sat opposite her godfather and seemed to be considering something. Then she nodded to herself. Rather decisively, Bruce noted, with both amusement, and some trepidation.

'Neither, actually.' She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her godfather. 'I got accepted at another school.' She paused. 'A more… exclusive… school.'

Bruce put down the brochures beside him, then he unfolded the paper and read it, his face impassive as his mind raced, accumulating and sorting the new data it presented.

'Hogwarts.' He finally said. He looked up and smiled. 'I expect this is a subject you haven't read much about.' She shook her head, untameable hair surrounding her like a bushy cloud as she did so. 'More books for your birthday presents then.' He glanced back at the paper in his hand. 'Although getting hold of them might be a bit… challenging.'

* * *

The owl viewed the giant bat impassively. Bruce Wayne sighed. These untimely interruptions into his night patrols would have to change. He took the note, tucked it into his utility belt and then leapt of the building, his cape allowing him to glide downwards.

He got into his new car – his 'batmobile' as Hermione had sniffily declared it – before opening the note his goddaughter had sent him. He read it. He pressed a communication device in the car.

'She hates it, Alfred.'

'Sir?'

'She sent me another owl.' He clarified. 'She hates it.'

'Indeed sir?'

'She says, and I quote: "There appears to be some division between those who have "pure-blood" and those who they class as "mud-blood" i.e. people like me with no magical background. The look down on me in spite of me being top of almost every class – except potions…. and they sorted us into houses according to our personality – with a mind reading hat – it was ridiculous – how can you not change as you grow up? Are you the same person you were at the age of eleven?"… Well Alfred – are you?'

'I fear not sir.'

'The letter is much the same all the way through – her classmates resent her for doing well…'

Alfred coughed. 'She is, if I may say so sir, rather precocious.'

Bruce absently nodded, tucking the letter away again.

'Although sir, I must confess to curiosity.'

Bruce waited.

'I do wonder which member of staff was brave enough to ensure that Miss Hermione was top of every class – **except** potions?'

'An excellent point Alfred.' He started the car. 'Did the books I ordered arrive yet?'

'Indeed they did sir. And might I suggest we get a few more copies of the _Monster Book of Monsters_? It appears that the first two decided to have a contest with one of the other volumes you ordered.'

Bruce winced. 'Did anything survive?'

'Only the other volume sir. _Dark Arts and Their Uses _is more vicious than we were led to believe. There were only pages of the other books left. Ripped and eaten pages.'

Bruce blinked. 'Hermione won't be happy if she finds half the new library _eaten_.'

'No sir. Might I suggest we keep the magic books away from anything… else?'

* * *

'Alfred.' He said calmly, looking up as his butler entered the room. 'Do we have any books describing the magical indigenous species?' He glanced at the parchment he held in his hand again. 'Specifically on the subject of Trolls? Their height, weight, intelligence levels, capabilities, what they eat…'

'I believe so sir. May I ask why?'

'Hermione was nearly attacked.' He laid down the piece of parchment carefully on the table, smoothing out the creases as he did so.

Alfred inwardly shuddered. The calmness belied the mood his master was truly in.

'She says she's fine.' He stated, his eyes meeting his butler's. 'Says the whole thing ended up with her making two friends – Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.' He paused. 'She also admits that her new friend, Ron, was in fact the reason she ended up locked in a room with the troll, but now – all is forgiven – as they saved her _life_.'

'I shall retrieve the books in question immediately, Sir.'

'Thank you Alfred. Could you bring _Hogwarts, A History_ as well please? I'd like to review exactly what the chapters on protective wards around the school claimed.'

Alfred closed the door silently behind him.

Bruce leant back in his chair, glad to be alone. 'Trolls.' He murmured. 'What kind of a school are they running?'

* * *

Next chapter will be posted as soon as it is completed. Your thoughts, comments or questions?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author**: serendu

**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing also DC comics and their subsidiaries. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Pairing**: None

Notes: Batman/Hp xover. Harry Potter wasn't the only person in Hogwarts with a godfather.

Chapter 2. The Other Side.

* * *

Hermione Granger was seven when she met Bruce Wayne for the second time. Privately, Hermione considered it to be the real _first_ time she had actually met him – as the first time had been at her Christening – she was a baby and Bruce Wayne was about to fall off the face of the planet for seven years - two weeks later.

He had appeared in her garden, this tall, dark stranger and asked for her parents. He had tried his best to entertain her after they were reintroduced, but in Hermione's mind – any man who showed up after seven years and pretended to be her best friend deserved to be treated with a bit of reserve.

He'd soon stopped faking a smile at her.

And part of her hated him for stopping.

It wasn't her fault she didn't have many friends – as intelligent as she was - she ran circles around the rest of the boys and girls in her primary school.

In fact, she knew, deep down – she didn't have any real friends.

And now, her godfather turns up, after vanishing for so long, making her parents happy, but Hermione was left, once again on the outside. Literally this time as she was back out in her garden reading her book, with the adults laughter spilling out of the open window above her. She sighed, tucked her book under her chin and wondered what happened next.

A loud laugh from her godfather broke her chain of thought. 'What do godfathers _do_ anyway?' She muttered and went back to her book.

* * *

Hermione Granger was ten when she next spent a significant time with her godfather. Her parents, to her utter horror, had decided not to take their daughter to Africa – instead she would stay with her godfather for the whole summer.

'But I want to go with you!'

'I'm sorry, Hermione, but it's simply too dangerous for us to take you.' Her mother reasoned.

'But it's not too dangerous for you to go!' She stomped her foot.

'We won't be able to look after you while we work.' Her mother said, exchanging glances with her father. 'You know you won't want to hang around the medical tents all day – and we simply can't risk you wandering off – like you did last month in the shopping centre.'

'But I wouldn't!'

'Enough!' Steve Granger said loudly, looking down at his only child. 'You're staying with your Uncle Bruce – he's very kindly offered to put you up. And you will behave young lady – or else!'

Hermione hung her head.

Her father and mother exchanged exasperated glances.

'You know you'll like visiting with Uncle Bruce.' Her mother said. 'He's promised to take you shopping…'

'Don't like shopping.' Hermione interjected. 'Don't like Uncle Bruce.' She added under her breath.

'I heard that young lady.' Her father said. 'There has been enough of this talk – you're going to Gotham. And that is final. Now go upstairs with your mother and finish packing – understand?'

Hermione was silent before finally nodding her head very slowly.

Her parents' eyes met over her head once more, this time filled with relief.

'I'm going to start loading up the car.' Her father said, heading for the door.

I'll just get another cup of tea – and we can finish packing.' Her mother added.

Hermione finally raised her eyes from the study of the carpet, mulling over the article she had read earlier in the day when she found out about what was happening. 'Sending me to Gotham. Where they have a man, dressing as a bat and fighting crime.' She paused. 'And they think Africa is dangerous.' Shaking her head, she left the room to finish her packing.

* * *

The dress was too short, Hermione decided. Much too short. In fact – it would have looked short on her, let alone the blonde hanging off her godfather's arm.

Bruce Wayne guffawed at something the blonde woman said, before turning again to the brunette on his other arm.

Hermione watched and then frowned.

Her godfather _never_ acted like that.

She watched.

And thought.

And then remembered what she had read about Gotham.

Then she laughed.

Loudly.

Her laughter echoed down the long corridor of the penthouse, making Bruce and his companions look up from their self absorbed discussion.

Bruce looked uncomfortable for a brief moment, then he let go of the two women and approached his far earlier than he had anticipated goddaughter.

'Hermione!' He said flinging his arms open as though he expected her to run into them. 'You're early!'

Hermione dropped her bags and gave into her naughty side. 'Uncle Bruce!' She yelled and dashed across the hall, loosing her balance in the process and crashing into Bruce, toppling them both into an undignified heap on the floor, Bruce bearing the brunt of the impact.

She 'accidentally' kicked him in trying to get up, heard him exclaim under his breath and gloated. 'Sorry Uncle Bruce… It's just been so long…' She trailed off as she watched her godfather manage to pull himself up.

'No problem.' Bruce replied with an easy smile. 'Ladies,' he said, turning to his former companions, resting his hands on Hermione's shoulders. 'May I present my goddaughter – Hermione Granger. She's staying with me for the summer.'

Hermione, unseen by Bruce, gave the two women an evil grin.

'Hermione and I have quite the full schedule – I'm taking her shopping.' He winked at the ladies.

'Yes.' Hermione butted in. 'Uncle Bruce has promised to take me shopping – I can't wait. I want to go to ALL the shops in Gotham.'

The women smiled patronisingly down at Hermione.

'My Mummy and Daddy said I could look forward to a really jam-packed summer, because, they said, Uncle Bruce had promised to spend ALL his time with me.' She added. 'That's why I came early.' She turned her face up to see Bruce. 'Is there really a zoo in Gotham?'

'Yes there is.'

'And a museum?'

'Yes.'

'And a theatre? And a park? And a cinema? And a…'

'I'm sure we'll get around to seeing all those. Alfred has been really looking forward to your visit too you know. I expect he'd love to take you round some of those.'

Hermione wrinkled her nose. 'But I don't want Alfred to take me – I want you!' She whined in her most annoying voice.

Bruce gave in and shrugged helplessly at the two women. 'I'm sorry ladies, perhaps we can continue some other time?'

The two women glanced at each other, glared at the still grinning Hermione and then nodded to Bruce, before slinking out on their impossibly high heels.

Bruce watched them leave before turning back to his now glaring goddaughter who had shaken his hands off her shoulders, and was now facing him with her arms crossed in front of her.

'I know you're Batman.' She declared. 'But couldn't you pick someone classier to be with to pretend you aren't?' She uncrossed her arms, turned and started marching towards the door where the women had exited, grabbing her bags as she did so. 'I think my mother would call them floozies.' She added, over her shoulder. 'And I don't think she'd be happy if she knew they were here when I was!'

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

It was going to be a long visit.

* * *

'I don't know why you think I'm Batman.' Bruce said.

Hermione continued to stare out of the car window ignoring him completely.

'I mean – me? Batman?'

Hermione pretended not to hear anything.

'I know you girls like to make up fairy stories…'

Hermione turned her head to face her godfather, a furious expression on her face. 'I am NOT like any other girls YOU know.' She said. 'And my mother would be appalled to know you were…' She paused to think up a word to describe the two women she had met briefly and reverted to repeating something she had overheard her mother say to her father about Bruce's behaviour with women. '_Consorting_ with ladies like that while I was visiting.'

'But – you were early!'

'That,' said Hermione 'is no excuse.' She poked him in the side. 'You knew I was coming. And you did it anyway.' She poked him again. 'And I _know_ you are Batman – so stop denying it.' She turned her head away to the window again.

Bruce sighed, exasperated, before meeting his butler's eyes in the mirror. He recognised the expression and asked resignedly, 'Anything to add, Alfred?'

Alfred cleared his throat before speaking. 'If I may say so sir…' Alfred paused. 'Miss Hermione is right. Her mother would be appalled at the ladies you introduced to her daughter.' He paused before finishing with a rather surprising, 'And you are indeed Batman.'

Hermione's face, reflected onto the window pane, changed from a frown to a small smile.

Bruce blinked at the sudden revelation before sighing aloud. 'Fine. So I am Batman. And I should have made sure I didn't have any guests before my goddaughter was due to turn up – even if she was a day early.' He added, glaring back at the man who had raised him. Then he turned to Hermione. 'Anything else?'

Hermione sniffed and turned back to her godfather. 'Your tie is slightly crooked and you have a tiny smear of lipstick near your ear.' She turned back to the window, peering out at the Gotham streets. 'And just because you've admitted you were wrong doesn't mean you are forgiven.'

Bruce's head fell back against the seat.

The visit was definitely not going to go well.

* * *

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she gazed at herself in the mirror. A week into her visit and her godfather had made good on his promise and was taking her shopping. Unfortunately for her godfather no one had mentioned how much Hermione hated shopping. Unless it was for books.

Right now, she was standing in a changing room and dawdling.

She didn't care about how she looked, as long as she was clean and decent. She didn't care about what brands or names of clothes she wore.

She might have preferred her hair to behave a bit better – but other than that – Hermione was happy as she was.

She was staying in here until it was time for the Gotham shops to close.

Of course – most of them would happily stay open for Gotham's very own Prince, Bruce Wayne and his privileged goddaughter.

Not counting the shop assistants who happily abandoned everyone else to serve him.

Then trying to drape themselves over him.

That was why she was staying in this changing room.

This was one of the more exclusive shops – with a very old and decrepit assistant who had at one point often served Bruce's mother and once even his grandmother.

So far, the assistant had failed to flirt with Bruce. That meant Hermione wanted to stay here. She had demanded a huge pile of clothes, and was considering actually picking some to be purchased – which was more than she had done in the other stores.

She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes to go.

She picked up the next dress and held it against her, before throwing it back on the pile. Pink really wasn't her colour. Yet everyone heard _goddaughter, Bruce Wayne_ and held out everything pink that they had in the store.

She still hadn't got over the thong one assistant had handed her in front of Alfred.

They left that shop rather quickly.

She glanced at her watch again. Seventeen minutes and counting.

* * *

'Is there a reason you're hiding out down here?'

Hermione turned to face the wall.

'Did something… happen?' Alfred asked delicately, noticing the tear tracks catching the light on the side of Hermione's face.

'No Alfred.' A miserable voice answered. 'I'm fine.'

Alfred took stock of the small girl, curled up in a ball in the corner of the storeroom. 'Perhaps some hot chocolate, Miss?'

Hermione watched him for a long moment, before nodding.

Alfred held out his hand to her as she uncurled herself. He grasped her hand tightly as they made their way back to the elevator doors. 'Your godfather was very worried when you didn't show up for dinner.' He commented.

Hermione didn't answer.

'I think he might be owed a bit of an explanation?' He added delicately, looking at the bowed bushy head of his charge.

Hermione considered this as they got into the elevator. 'He'll think I'm being silly.' She said, trying to hide how upset she was.

'I do not think Master Bruce would ever consider you silly.'

'Really?' She said, turning her face to the butler for the first time.

'Indeed.' The elevator announced their arrival. 'I've found her Master Bruce.' He said, entering the penthouse. 'We are going to have some hot chocolate…' He added, a warning note in his voice. 'Would you care to join us sir?'

A relieved looking Bruce came towards them, looked at his butler, noted how tightly Hermione was holding his hand and then looked at Hermione, noting the tear tracks and how slumped her usually proud figure was.

'I think hot chocolate is an excellent idea.' Bruce said quietly. 'I think some cream on top and marshmallows too.'

'Not marshmallows.' Said a tiny voice.

'No marshmallows?' Alfred queried.

'Mummy wouldn't like me eating them.'

'Well then. No marshmallows it is.' Alfred smiled a strained smile. 'Perhaps you could wait in the other room while I get these ready?' He said to Hermione who reluctantly let go of his hand. 'I believe you two have things to discuss.'

Bruce looked at Hermione for a long moment, before he held out his hand. 'Shall we?'

Hermione gazed at the hand for a moment, before crossing to her godfather and grasping it in her own. 'Okay.'

Bruce led her to the chairs. He sat on one and Hermione sat on the other next to it, still holding his hand.

'Alfred said you won't think I'm being silly.' She said after a few minutes, not looking at him.

'He's right.'

She sniffed. 'Okay.' And then took her hand back to wipe her eyes, before turning to look at him. 'I was in the kitchen and the two…' She trailed off.

'Women?' Bruce hazarded, handing her a handkerchief.

She nodded and wiped her eyes before continuing. 'The ones who were here when I got here. They said… They said nasty things to me.'

'Such as?'

'They said… I was ugly. And my hair is horrible. And then the blonde one poked me and laughed at me. And then one of them pushed me and I hit my head. And then they laughed again and said that you hated me being here. And then…' She started to cry again.

Bruce's face showed his outrage. Hermione flinched thinking he was angry at her. 'I…I'm sorry!' She wailed. 'I don't mean to be a pain…'

'Stop.' A deep voice commanded.

Hermione had never heard that voice from her godfather before, but she immediately stopped crying.

'Look at me.'

She warily looked up at her godfather, his face vastly different to what it was a moment ago.

'You are always welcome here.' He said. 'They are not.'

Hermione looked confused.

'And they won't be coming here again. Ever. Understand?'

Hermione felt relief. 'Never?'

'Never. Did you hurt your head?'

It hurt a bit. But I think my hair was a bit of a cushion.' She smiled at him weakly, rubbing the small bruise.

'Hot chocolate first. Then a trip to the hospital to get you checked out.' Bruce said quietly. 'Okay?'

'Okay.'

Alfred entered, carrying a small tray. Two cups of hot chocolate and a small plate of biscuits.

'Alfred. Get the car ready for us please. Hermione hurt her head.'

Alfred placed the tray upon a small table. 'Of course sir.'

'And ensure security does not let in the ladies who visited here earlier. They are not welcome.'

Alfred met his employer's gaze. 'Right away sir.'

* * *

'… Such is the price of a war on crime. This is Davine Smith, BBC News, Gotham City.'

Hermione gasped as she watched the BBC news. A week had passed since the criminal known as the Joker was caught, and only now was it possible for a reporter in Gotham to reveal the true cost that Gotham had paid for their war on the mob bosses who virtually ran the city.

'Mummy?'

'Yes dear?' Her mother's voice answered her from behind a pile of correspondence.

'Can I… Ring Uncle Bruce?'

'What on earth for?' Her father said looking up from his own pile of paperwork. 'You haven't found another book you desperately need?'

'No!' Hermione answered, trying hard not to glare at her father and failing. 'I only did that once!' She turned back to her mother. 'Please Mummy? It is important.'

Her mother considered it. 'Fine.'

'Yes!' She got up from in front of the television and headed out for the upstairs phone as it provided a bit more privacy.

'But not too long!' Her mother called as she ran up the stairs. 'We aren't all billionaires and last time the phone bill was huge!'

Hermione closed the door on her mother's voice, before grabbing the phone book and dialling the international dialling code for the US. She sat on the floor against her parents' bed as she tapped in the code for Gotham, and got herself comfortable as she tapped in a direct line to one of the world's most desired men.

'Wayne residence.'

'Hello Alfred. Is Bruce there?'

'Miss Hermione!' The joy in the man's voice was clear to anyone who knew him. 'I'm not sure he is taking any calls at the moment my dear.' The sadness was evident.

'I heard.' She said quietly. 'I am sorry Alfred. Are you okay?'

'Managing Miss Hermione. Managing.'

'And Uncle Bruce?'

'Not… managing.'

'Can you see if he will talk to me?'

A pause.

'I shall try my dear. Hold on for a moment.'

Hermione waited for what seemed like forever. She still wasn't entirely sure what she would say. She had only met Rachel briefly – but had seen how her godfather's eyes had lit up at the sight of her, even though she had been with another man.

Finally a desolate voice spoke. 'Hello?'

'Uncle Bruce?' Hermione bit her lip, still unsure as to what to say. Finally she said what she felt she needed to. 'I'm sorry about your friend.'

* * *

'Your Uncle Bruce is coming. Are you going to tell him about…?' Her mother trailed off, still overwhelmed that her impossible daughter was, of all things, magical.

Hermione sighed as she brushed an errant piece of hair behind her ear for the hundredth time that day. 'I don't know, Mum. I suppose it depends on him.'

Her mother frowned. 'Depends on him?'

'Well… Last time I spoke to him properly was after… Well, Rachel'

'His old friend who died in those awful attacks?'

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the description of the woman she still thought was her godfather's Juliet to his Romeo. 'Yes – that one. I don't want to upset him if he finds out there's a group of people out there who could have done something about that crazy Joker man before he hurt anyone - but they didn't.'

'Well,' her mother said, considering her daughter's words, 'it did sound like they hold themselves very much apart from our society.'

'I know… I just…' She shrugged. 'I suppose I'll have to tell him something because he is coming all this way.

Her mother smiled a misty smile.

'Mum?'

'Oh its nothing.' She smiled at her daughter. 'I don't think your father or I ever thought Bruce would manage to live up to his father's footsteps – and in some ways I still think he doesn't.' She looked away again.

Hermione rolled her eyes in disbelief at how her mother couldn't see through the façade of Bruce Wayne – Playboy Extraordinaire.

'Yet – with you he's always made an effort. In some ways he surpasses his father.' She looked back at Hermione. 'Oh Thomas would have been a marvellous godfather. But that is all he would have been – it would have been us who had the relationship with him – not you. But Bruce doesn't have that relationship with us – not really. It was his father who was your father's mentor – not him. So for you to be his goddaughter – he tries much harder for a relationship with you. Do you see?' Then she laughed suddenly. 'Sometimes I think you know him better than the rest of us – because we only see him as a very rich man. I think you know the man underneath all that. Perhaps even knowing some of his secrets!' She laughed again, amused by what she had said.

Hermione's face was impassive.

'Anyway, I'm rambling.' Her mother got up. 'And as you know him better than us you had better let me know - is it tea or coffee that he prefers?'

* * *

Thoughts comments suggestions?


	3. Chapter 3

**Author**: serendu

**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing also DC comics and their subsidiaries. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Pairing**: None

Notes: Batman/Hp xover. Harry Potter wasn't the only person in Hogwarts with a godfather.

Okay – confession time. Up until the 5th book I loved the HP world. By the end of the 6th I really _really_ didn't. Consequently this story will be going AU. *shrugs* Don't like – don't read!

Chapter 3. Can I Have A…?

* * *

'Happy Christmas Uncle Bruce!' A cheerful sounding Hermione spoke into his ear via the telephone.

'Happy Christmas Hermione.' Bruce Wayne smiled. 'Did you like your books?'

'Yes, thank you – I hadn't seen the _Complete and Unabridged Hogwarts, a History _before. It's a rather… different interpretation of the history of Hogwarts from what I read in the first chapter in comparison to my other copy of _Hogwarts, a History_.'

Bruce grinned. 'Yes, it is.'

'It's convenient that it happens to be exactly like the cover of my other copy.'

'Is it really?' Bruce asked, as he leant back in his chair smirking.

'Yes. Almost as though someone thought it would be appropriate for me to be reading this new copy, rather than my original one, and no one being the wiser.'

'Alfred thought you might like to have the book looking like your old one.' Bruce offered.

'Typical.' Hermione huffed. 'You always blame Alfred.'

Bruce laughed. 'It was his idea.'

'Fine. I'll believe you. Millions wouldn't.'

'Thank you. Enjoying the break from school?' He asked.

'Oh, it's nice to be home. Hogwarts is definitely more fun now I've made some friends – but I missed Mum and Dad. Plus being able to ring up my godfather and demand some of his expensive time.'

Bruce chuckled. 'Is that all you call me for?'

'Of course not.' Bruce could visualise Hermione rolling her eyes at him. 'But I do miss electricity and all the other things you can do with it.'

He moved back into an upright position. 'And how are your friends? Ron and Harry?'

'Ron… is well…' She trailed off. 'Honestly? Ron's a pain. He's always on at me for finishing my homework, and then he expects he can copy off mine because he hasn't done his. He wants Harry to constantly go off with him, rather than let Harry do his homework… I think he's a bit of a bully, really.'

Bruce frowned. He didn't like the sound of this Ron. 'And Harry?'

'Harry.' Hermione paused. 'Harry's Harry Potter. Did you read about him in the history books?'

'The-Boy-Who-Lived.' Bruce drawled.

'Yes. He's their _hero_.' She said sarcastically. 'Only he isn't really – he's just an eleven year old boy, who only wants to have friends, who wears glasses that don't suit him, who wears awful clothes, and is really tiny.'

'Hermione.' Bruce said suddenly. 'Are you ill?'

'Pardon?'

'You care about… his clothes? You who swore to absolutely hate clothes shopping?'

'Well... It isn't… But…' She exhaled loudly down the phone. 'This is different!'

'How so?'

'He's… well… It's really odd.' She said finally. 'His family should be quite wealthy – but the clothes Harry wears are awful. Half the time they are too big for him, and they're _worn_ and… and… he even uses a piece of rope as a belt!'

Bruce frowned. 'How do you know his family are wealthy?'

'Well, he's a Potter. They were meant to be wealthy.'

'I was under the impression that Harry is the last Potter…'

'Yes! Exactly!'

'…And so he would be living with someone else, who looked after him and bought him his clothes.'

'Yes! Exact… Oh.' Hermione stopped abruptly. 'He lives with his aunt, uncle and cousin.'

'They're magical?'

'No – they're muggles. Like my parents.'

'So would they know about the Potter money?'

Hermione considered it. 'I doubt it. I would guess it's all in Gringotts.'

'Which they can't access.'

'No….' She trailed off in thought. 'But Harry can! I've seen his key!'

'So why doesn't he?'

A long pause. 'I don't know. I really don't know. I mean – his robes are okay. But his socks and his shoes…' She trailed off. 'Maybe his family aren't very wealthy?'

'I think that might be something you could find out – discretely maybe?'

'I suppose.' She sounded like she was considering it. 'Anyway – how was your Christmas?'

'Very good indeed. Thank you for my present by the way.'

'Oh – did you like it? I thought a magical foe-glass might be interesting to keep in your office. I charmed it so anyone who doesn't know about magic won't see what it is.'

Bruce laughed. 'Still annoyed about Coleman Reese are you?'

'That man!' Hermione huffed. 'I don't know why you still employ him – he was going to sell you out!'

'He's good at what he does…'

'Lucius said he was going to blackmail you.'

Bruce winced at the memory of Lucius and Hermione together discussing what they really should do to Reese. 'He is still very good at what he does. And he did manage to stick to the cover story.' He offered.

'You still had to save his life afterwards. If he hadn't decided to tell everyone he knew who… _Batman_ was,' she whispered fiercely, 'he wouldn't have had that crazy Joker man after him.'

'I had to stop it before anything else could happen.'

'With your car.'

'It was necessary to save him.' Bruce offered lamely.

'Oh, I don't really care about him! Lucius will manage to keep him… _busy._' Hermione muttered. 'It was what you did to the car I was angry about!'

'Hermione Granger,' Bruce drawled. 'Are you telling me you would have preferred him to have been hurt rather than my car? What would your parents say?'

Hermione sniffed. 'If they knew what HE was like they would agree with me. The man's horrible. And pathetic. He's worse than Professor Snape!'

'Ah yes, your potions professor.' Bruce waved Alfred in as he brought in a tea tray for Bruce. 'You have to tell me all about him.'

* * *

Bruce Wayne, to all who really knew him and could tell, was furious.

Outwardly he adopted his impeccable, charming persona, as he flirted with the increasingly vacuous blondes/brunettes/redheads at his party; he acknowledged inwardly that he couldn't wait until he was back out on the streets.

Catching criminals.

Preferably, after taking his anger out on them.

Thoroughly.

He took a slow breath and deliberately loosened the grip he had on his champagne glass – before he broke the fragile stem. He smiled another empty-headed smile at his current female companion, and plotted exactly what to do with Hermione's latest dilemma.

She had returned to school after Christmas and a few days later had sent him a letter. In it she had asked for him to buy her something slightly out of the usual. A company. A drill making company to be exact. She had explained that she understood if he had a problem with spending quite a bit of money on her – not that Bruce actually minded – but she would be ever so pleased if he could. Then she went on to explain why.

Bruce excused himself from the group and made his way to another part of the penthouse. He quirked a grin. His "panic room" as two rather deluded previous guests had thought. Pressing the panel, he ducked into the room, before securely closing the entrance.

'Any luck Alfred?'

'Not yet, sir.' Alfred didn't look up from the screens he was viewing. 'There are a number of drill making companies in the UK.'

'In Surrey?'

'Two, sir.'

Bruce shrugged off his jacket, undid his tie, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

'Any with an employee whose first name is Vernon?'

'One moment sir… Yes. A Grunnings Drills. Owned by a Mr. Fredrick Grunnings and his two sons.' Alfred tapped a few more keys. 'It looks like they may be in a ripe position for a takeover bid sir. A previous one fell through just last month.' Alfred looked up at his employer who now stood next to him gazing intently at the same screen.

'Can you find the company who intended to buy them out?'

'Yes sir.' Alfred brought up the information.

'Anything… useful?'

The two men watched as the information appeared.

'It looks like there were some questionable figures from the accounts for Grunnings.' Bruce noted.

'Indeed sir. Hence them deciding not to buy the company.' Alfred took off his reading glasses and turned to look fully at his employer. 'Will you be picking up where they left off?'

Bruce read the information as he considered the question, before stepping back and moving off to where he kept his _other_ suits, knowing no one at the party would miss him. 'I'll talk to Lucius in the morning.'

* * *

The huge boardroom was unusually empty. A mere three people sat, in a triangle, documents placed in from of them, reviewing the data the documents contained.

'I don't know if I would agree to us needing to purchase this company Mr Wayne.' Lucius Fox said, pushing the folder closed. 'We already have a number of interests that make similar items.'

Bruce glanced at Lucius and then turned to face Alfred, who raised his eyebrows in return.

Bruce flicked the folder closed. 'It's for Hermione.'

'Your goddaughter?' Lucius queried. 'Any particular reason why she suddenly wants a drill company?'

'Miss Hermione has some… ideas about one of the employees.' Alfred answered delicately.

Lucius raised an eyebrow.

'One of her classmates is related to a manager in the firm.' Bruce clarified.

'And she wants the company… for…?'

'I believe Miss Hermione wants the company to ensure their good behaviour.'

'The manager that is.' Bruce added. 'Not the classmate.' He paused. 'Hermione has reason – good reason – to believe that the manager in question has been less than kind to her classmate.' He watched Lucius's expression change. 'She would prefer if that behaviour changed.'

Lucius nodded. 'Well, the board won't have any issue with it.' He glanced back at the documents. 'Grunnings Drills. Shall we go over the figures?'

* * *

Diagon Alley was everything and nothing like Bruce had expected. He had already visited the American equivalents after reading some of the books about the Wizarding world he had purchased for Hermione.

He had believed he had some reasonable idea of how it would be: antiquated and outdated. It was.

What he hadn't expected was a sinister feel to a number of the streets that branched off from the main street.

Fortunately, as Batman, he was rather used to sinister.

Using his night vision goggles he mentally mapped the passageways, ensuring he would not get lost when he ventured down into the streets - as opposed to perching on the top of a shop as he currently was. The shop had closed for the day several hours earlier.

He had two goals, map the area and then test one of his new gadgets to see how effective it would be in an area saturated with magic. If it worked here, he intended to develop the technology, hopefully so that Hermione would be able to communicate with something other than owls. He was rather sick of being interrupted by owls at the most inopportune moments. Then Commissioner Gordon's face swam into memory. He smirked briefly. That moment had been amusing.

Finally, after ensuring nothing was stirring, he moved down from his perch to the streets below. He smirked again as he did so, remembering some of the individuals he had seen earlier. In this place – no one would look twice at a masked and cloaked figure.

* * *

Even at the height of summer, the front of Grunnings Drills was, in Bruce Wayne's mind something that could have sat quite happily in some of the rougher parts of Gotham. Unconsciously he tightened his hand that held his goddaughter's acknowledging her sigh of irritation as he did so and ignoring it completely. He still hadn't got over what she had told him about the end of her school year.

And he was still trying to puzzle out her headmaster's game. Hermione might have been thrilled at her house winning the House Cup at the end of the year, but Bruce wondered what kind of a headmaster decided to re-write the rules when he felt like it, ensuring the rest of the school ended up resenting his goddaughter and her friends by showing his favouritism for them.

He couldn't even look at a chess board the day after she told him about Ron's self sacrificing move.

He was almost ready to forgive Ron for bullying his goddaughter after that.

He inwardly grimaced as he looked at the building. 'I can still call it off.' He said quietly to Hermione as he glanced at her.

'No.' Hermione had a mulish expression on her face. 'I want this.'

Bruce glanced over to Alfred, exchanging speaking glances. 'Well then.' Bruce adopted an aimless smile. 'Shall we?' He paused before they go to the door. 'Remember – on your head be it.'

Hermione let go of his hand. 'Don't worry Uncle Bruce.' She pushed the door open. 'My hair will protect me.'

* * *

Hermione, Bruce noted with some amusement, had obviously paid attention when she stayed with him. Instead of rushing her prey, she played the dutiful goddaughter, impressing all with her sunny disposition and sensible questions. Now, however, the party for the new owner was winding down and Hermione had left Bruce's side, ostensibly to go to the ladies… More accurately, she was going for something else.

'More champagne, Master Bruce?' Alfred appeared noiselessly at his elbow, carry a tray.

Bruce placed his empty glass on the tray and took a full glass of what Alfred termed champagne, that was in fact coloured fizzy water. 'Thank you Alfred.' He watched Hermione surreptitiously. 'Although for this little scene, it might be more appropriate for us to have popcorn.'

'Indeed sir.' Only someone with a long acquaintance with Alfred would spot the amusement in his voice. 'Do you intend to watch, or involve yourself?'

'I think it depends on how it goes.'

The two men continued to watch.

'He does appear to be getting rather irate sir.' Alfred said, noticing the colour rising in Vernon Dursley's cheeks.

'He does.' Bruce said, before setting off to intervene.

'Boorsley right?' Bruce said, with a fake smile, wrapping his free arm around a smug looking Hermione's shoulders, sipping his champagne as he did so.

'He's Mr Dursley, Uncle Bruce. Vernon Dursley.' Hermione simpered. 'I was just telling Mr Dursley that I go to school with his nephew.'

'Really?' Bruce drawled, sipping his drink. 'Small world.'

'I was telling Mr Dursley about how Harry – that's his nephew – got me interested in drills.'

Dursley, Bruce noted, was now close to purple.

'And how fascinating it all is – that's why I asked you to buy me the company.'

'What?' Dursley nearly yelled. 'I…I… I… mean, I'm sorry Mr Wayne,' he grovelled, 'But I thought it was Wayne Industries that bought the firm… Not your delightful goddaughter.' He patted Hermione's head with a meaty hand.

Bruce could almost feel the rage coming off Hermione from Vernon's rather unfortunate action. 'Oh it is – but it's all for her.' He sipped his drink. 'After all – I do own the majority of the shares, and when Hermione is old enough…' He trailed off, inference clear.

Vernon's face seemed to almost melt from purple to white. Bruce was fascinated; even as Batman he'd never seen anyone go so pale so quickly before.

'Of course, one of my first tasks is to get used to doing the accounts.' Hermione added. 'Do you think the accountants at your office will help me?' She turned an innocent face up to Bruce.

'Of course they will. You could ask that nice Mr Reese if he would help you.'

Hermione's face didn't change, but her eyes glared up at him. 'If you think that would be a good idea…' She turned back to Vernon and held out her hand. 'I look forward to seeing you again in the future.' She said, shaking the hand of a still very pale Vernon Dursley. She turned to Bruce again, seemingly dismissing Dursley from her mind, even though the man still stood there. 'If you're in town for a while longer we could go shopping. You know how I _love_ shopping.'

Bruce was glad he had endured years of training – just so he could keep a straight face at this moment. 'Yes – you do have very deep emotions when it comes to shopping.' He murmured.

'Sir, the car is ready.' Alfred intoned, once again noiseless in his approach, the very image of an impeccable butler.

'Excuse us, Mr Doorsley.' Bruce said amiably, letting go of Hermione to shake his hand. He handed his glass back to Alfred, took hold of Hermione's hand and then set off with them to leave the building.

'I can't believe he patted me on the head!' An outraged Hermione whispered once they were out of earshot.

Bruce smirked. 'What are you complaining about?' He said, opening the door for her. 'You said your hair would protect you!'

* * *

He was scrawny. He was dressed in clothes that Bruce knew most people wouldn't use as cleaning rags. In fact, Bruce was pretty sure that most of the poor people in Gotham dressed better than the boy. He didn't like the look of the nasty red burn mark on his hand, either. Harry James Potter, to Bruce Wayne's jaundiced eye, was quite simply an abused child.

Hermione had held his hand tightly as she nearly dragged the boy from the pristine looking house into the Rolls Royce. He glanced up at the horse-faced woman who stood in the doorway of number four Privet Drive and realised that if he stood between her and the Joker, he might just step aside. He turned away.

Hermione and Harry settled themselves into the back seat next to him as Alfred closed the door gently.

Alfred then got into the driver's seat and glanced at his employer catching his eye in the mirror. 'London sir?'

'Yes please Alfred.' He turned and looked at his grinning goddaughter and her terrified, but determined not to show it friend. 'Harry Potter – right?' He said, smiling a smile that was close to being sincere, he reached across Hermione and offered his hand. 'Bruce Wayne.'

Today would definitely be interesting.

* * *

Thoughts, comments, queries?


	4. Chapter 4

**Author**: serendu

**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing also DC comics and their subsidiaries. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Pairing**: None

Notes: Batman/Hp xover. Harry Potter wasn't the only person in Hogwarts with a godfather.

Apologies for the delay in this – the chapter took longer than anticipated. Please bear in mind that I am very busy and fic writing is so far down the list of priorities that it is on another page! Thanks to all the reviewers – I do appreciate each and every one.

Chapter 4. Baby You Can Drive My Car.

* * *

It took over a week for Hermione to manage to get hold of Harry and pluck up the courage to ask him about his family. Fortunately for her, whilst sitting and reading her new copy of _Hogwarts, a History _early one Sunday morning in the common room, Harry appeared and sat down opposite. He explained that Ron was still abed, and although he had tried to go back to sleep for a nice lie-in, he hadn't managed to do so.

After a while, he pulled out some parchment and began doodling on the corners of his potions notes, his mind obviously elsewhere. Hermione screwed up her courage, put down her book and regarded him for a moment before finally asking; 'Harry?'

'Hmm?'

'I was wondering – you live with your Aunt and Uncle – don't you?'

'Hmm.' The tone indicated Harry's happiness about that.

'They aren't magical are they?'

'Nope.'

'What do they do?' Harry looked up, a vaguely suspicious expression on his face. 'I mean – for work? Your uncle and aunt work – right?' She paused then added hurriedly seeing his face hadn't changed, 'My parents are both dentists.'

'Uncle Vernon works for a drill company.' Harry grudgingly answered. 'Aunt Petunia is a housewife.' He ducked his head back down to view his doodles and scribbled the last one out forcefully.

'Oh.' Hermione paused, wondering how to get more information. 'My mum took time off when I was little.'

'Aunt Petunia doesn't work.' Harry said, abstractly, now focussed back on his drawings, 'I don't think Uncle Vernon would let her…'

'Does he think a woman's place in the kitchen?'

'Unless there's a freak there.' Harry muttered.

Hermione blinked. 'Pardon?'

Harry looked up and realised Hermione had heard what he had said. 'Erm, its nothing.' He looked back at his parchment, hiding his face. 'I don't think Uncle Vernon likes the idea of a woman working.' He added a line to his now complex drawing. 'It isn't like they need the money anyway. Uncle Vernon buys a nice new car every year.'

'A new car _every year_?' Hermione said disbelievingly.

Harry looked up at his friend and nodded, obviously confused by her surprise.

'Goodness.' Hermione did some rapid calculations in her head. 'The only person I know who does things like that is my uncle Bruce.' She saw Harry looking intrigued. 'Well, he isn't really my uncle – he's my godfather – but I call him my uncle.' She explained. 'He doesn't have any children – at least – not yet – so he tends to spoil me a bit.' She bit her lip before speaking hurriedly. 'Don't tell Ron? He seems a bit… well, sensitive about money…' She trailed off.

'No problem. I understand.' Harry said.

They were both quiet for a while, Hermione returning to her book and Harry adding more detail to his picture.

'What's he like anyway?' Harry asked. 'Your godfather I mean.' He explained when Hermione looked up.

'Bruce?' Hermione pondered her godfather. 'Rich. Tall. Strong. Fabulous. Spends more cash in a day on something pointless than most people spend in a year on essentials. Has women falling over themselves to get to him.' She paused, and then set down her book. 'He is very wealthy – and because of that he's quite well known.' She looked over at Harry. 'In some ways you're kind of like him. His parents died when he was quite young too – and everyone gossips about him.'

'Does he… like it? The attention?'

'In some ways. He tends to think it's hilarious if it is really wrong.' She wrinkled her nose. 'I think he makes some of the crazier stories up himself sometimes – because it makes him laugh.' She smiled over at her friend. 'I think you two would get along. Maybe I should introduce you.'

* * *

Hogwarts Library,

Hogwarts School

Unplottable Place

Scotland

United Kingdom

Dear Uncle Bruce,

School is back in session. The classes are going as well as can be expected – except of course for Professor Snape who insists on making sure the Slytherins get as many points as possible and bullying Harry and poor Neville Longbottom while he does it. Oh, and Draco Malfoy is still an obnoxious toad. One day he's going to go too far – and then we'll see how good my transfiguration skills are!

I've found a few empty rooms to practice my self defence too. I pretend I'm studying in the library – the boys think that I live there anyway – so they don't really miss me.

As for what we discussed on the phone. Well. I've spoken to Harry. It turns out – his Uncle Vernon works for a drill company and his aunt is a housewife. So I thought that maybe they aren't earning much money. Then, Harry said, and I quote, this:

"Uncle Vernon buys a nice new car every year."

My parents are dentists. They do both NHS and Private care. They do not make enough money to buy a new car every year. Nor do they make enough to buy a new car every other year.

Harry's shoes let in water. Harry got given fifty pence for Christmas. Harry's trousers don't fit him. Harry has never had a proper eye test – in spite of him wearing glasses. Harry has, on occasion referred to himself as a "freak" and once muttered something about sleeping in a cupboard – for years.

It seems to me like Uncle Vernon is buying things for himself – but nothing for his nephew - and maybe worse.

I do find it odd that it seems like I'm the only person who has noticed this. Surely the teachers check up on home situations? Although I will admit that I don't think the Wizarding world understands muggle clothing – my roommates – Lavender and Parvati were appalled with the clothes I use for exercising. I had to pretend it was something I wear to bed – underneath my nightie! Honestly! So maybe they all think that what Harry is wearing is normal? Even though it really isn't.

I'm also concerned that maybe someone has been interfering with Harry's home situation – he has mentioned occasions when he did accidental magic as a child – yet anything he did seemed to be fixed really quickly. It seems really odd – especially considering how you had to suffer through a week of a shaved head after… well, the _Kitchen Incident _as Alfred calls it. So I think that maybe I need to do things a bit more… unethical than I would prefer.

So, this is what I would like – and please say no if you don't want to do it.

I want to have Harry's Uncle Vernon buy him some new clothes.

I want to see where all this money for new cars is coming from.

I want…

I want the drill company – located (I think) in Surrey, where "Uncle Vernon" works. I want it.

Buy it for me. Please.

All my love,

Hermione.

* * *

At Kings Cross Station, Hermione kept a sharp look out. As she hugged both her parents, she watched, surreptitiously as Harry was met by his family.

Her eyes narrowed.

She was glad she now knew what Vernon Dursley looked like.

She had plans for him.

* * *

He sniffed, and she guessed he was distinctly unimpressed with what 4.7 million pounds had bought in terms of drill factories. Grunnings was certainly less than impressive. She hoped Bruce had set aside some money for cleaning this place up – it was a dump.

She pulled a face as Bruce took her hand. He definitely was not impressed. She sighed, she was old enough to look after herself these days - so she shrugged off his hand and made her way to the entrance.

Vernon Dursley was _hers._

* * *

She checked her appearance in the mirror. Patted down her impossible hair, smoothed down her dress and took a deep breath. It was time. Dursley's time was up. She left the toilets without hesitation, and made her way, slowly but surely to where her unsuspecting victim was standing.

'Mr Dursley is it?' She held out her hand for the man to shake.

'Yes indeed.' Dursley shook her hand and puffed up his chest, obviously pleased to be speaking to the new boss's goddaughter.

'Oh, I am pleased.' She said. 'I'm determined to learn all the names as quickly as possible.' She smiled sunnily up at him.

Dursley smarmily smiled back down at her, and seemed to be eying her up speculatively. 'I have a son around your age.' He said.

Hermione blinked. 'Really?' She queried politely, debating how to work this conversation to her advantage.

'My boy Dudley.' He said proudly. 'Attends the finest school in the county – Smeltings.'

'Smeltings…' Hermione trailed off. 'Now, I'm sure I've heard that in conversation recently.' she frowned, as though deep in thought. 'Oh – I remember – one of my classmates mentioned his cousin goes there…' She paused. 'Funnily enough – now I think of it – his cousin is called Dudley as well.' She waited.

Dursley seemed oblivious. 'What a coincidence!'

'In fact… My classmate – well – he's actually a very close friend…' She amended, 'lives with his aunt and uncle. And, curiously enough – his uncle is called Vernon too.' She watched as the realisation began to dawn on the man.

'Your nephew is Harry Potter isn't he?' She added, watching gleefully as the man in front of her slowly turned pale. 'He goes to Hogwarts with me.' She moved in for the kill. 'In fact, Harry was the reason I got so interested in drills in the first place. He told me all about you, Mr Dursley.' She took a breath, 'In fact, you aren't like I pictured you at all – Harry's so small and skinny, and wears such... well… lets be honest – appalling clothes – but you're so… robust and clearly wear nice enough suits.' She paused. 'I suppose it must be from his father's side – genetics you know, and his clothes must be like that because he wants to wear that kind of stuff – _right_?'

Dursley's face had gone from a pale pink, to a greenish hue and was now hovering somewhere around the red mark as Hermione spoke.

'I did wonder whether he had some issues at home with his trainers held together with tape, and a piece of rope for a belt, and a whole fifty pence for Christmas – because its not like his family don't love and cherish him is it?' She hissed.

'Now look here, girl…'

'Boorsley right?' An arm wrapped around her shoulders. Hermione leaned back and gloated over the now apoplectic Vernon Dursley. Here work here today was done.

* * *

'Hermione!' Her mother's voice rang out, utterly appalled.

Hermione winced. Perhaps mentioning the whole - Uncle Bruce bought me a company because I asked him to – should not have been spoken about near her parents. 'But… Mum…'

'Not another word!' Her mother said, towering over her, as she cringed next to Bruce on the sofa in her parents' lounge. 'I have never been so ashamed of you…'

'Helen.' Bruce interrupted. 'Please – let me finish?'

Helen Granger turned and glared at Bruce. 'Go on then – explain to me exactly why you spent over four million pounds on a whim of my daughter's?'

Bruce winced as he slumped back on the sofa, next to a still cringing Hermione.

'If I may… Mrs Granger?' Alfred's calm voice was a welcome distraction.

'Fine.' Her mother said, before matching back to her chair and sitting down with a distinct huff. 'Explain.'

'May I ask what you know of the Wizarding world?'

'Very little.' An angry looking Steve Granger muttered glaring at his daughter and her co-conspirator.

'It seemed to be rather antiquated.' Her mother added.

'Very.' Bruce said grimly.

Hermione frowned and turned to her godfather. 'You've been to one of the enclaves?'

Bruce glanced at her. 'Yes – but we'll discuss that later. Go ahead Alfred.'

Alfred waited until they turned their attention back to him. 'The Wizarding world is indeed very antiquated.' Alfred said with a nod in Mrs Granger's direction. 'Their ways seem quaint to us – even ridiculous and outdated.'

'I fail to see what this has to do with him spending so much money on her.' Her mother said, using her hand to jab in the direction of the sofa.

Alfred paused, allowing her to regain her clam. 'Your daughter has been introduced to a world that has little interaction with her own. As I understand it, they wouldn't know anything about televisions, computers, the internet…' He trailed off, waiting for Hermione to confirm what he had said.

'That's right.' She agreed. 'I think they have a radio network or something – but they call it wireless – like Granny used to. They do have a train – obviously – but that is a steam engine.'

'Indeed.' Alfred smiled at her. 'It is safe to conclude that – for example – current non-magical clothing is something beyond their knowledge.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'That's an understatement. The girls I share a room with were outraged when they saw my gym stuff.' She smirked at her mother. 'As for my underwear…'

Hermione's mother looked puzzled, thinking of the clothes she had sent her daughter off to school with. 'What was wrong with what you've got?'

'Nothing – for me and you – and most of the rest of the world.' She paused. 'But Lavender uses… well, bloomers I think they're called.

'Bloomers?' Her mother looked bewildered. Then she appeared to understand what Hermione meant. 'You mean the ones with…' She gestured with her hands. Hermione nodded. Her mother looked stunned. 'Well.'

'I know Mum.' Hermione snickered. 'I think they think you're some kind of scarlet woman after I said you'd picked them out for me.'

Hermione's mother was in shock. 'Really?' She asked faintly.

Alfred cleared his throat. 'I fear we have wandered off topic.' He said delicately. 'Perhaps if I may continue?' At the rooms' nods he began, 'As I said – their knowledge of current trends are somewhat limited.'

'I'll say! Bloomers!' Her mother muttered.

'Consequently, something that would be obvious to us – would be missed by them.'

'Such as?' Her father asked.

'Harry.' Hermione said, bluntly.

'Your friend?' Her mother said, looking puzzled.

Hermione nodded and bit her lip. She looked at Bruce, and then at Alfred, who nodded encouragingly. 'I noticed his clothes first – they were dreadful.' She began. 'I knew from reading about the-boy-who-lived that his family were meant to be wealthy – so I wondered why he wore those rags.' She took a breath. 'Then I spoke to Uncle Bruce who pointed out that maybe the family he lives with aren't wealthy.' She paused and looked over at her parents, eyes glimmering with a hint of tears. 'Only when I spoke to him – he said his aunt doesn't need to work and his uncle buys a new car every year. That his cousin is spoiled and has everything – but he has trainers that are falling apart and jeans that don't fit and t-shirts with holes and… and… and…'

'We took a closer look at the accounts of the company.' Bruce said, watching Hermione carefully as she tried to stop herself from crying. He leant over and wrapped an arm around her, and then he looked over to her parents. 'Dursley's been skimming a bit here and a bit there – enough to be noticeable. And yet…' He trailed off, 'It's been audited – four times – and not once did anyone pick up on the discrepancies.'

'Only they did.' Hermione interjected with a sniff, having calmed herself down.

'Yes they did.' Bruce let go of her, and then leant forward, looking at her parents meaningfully. 'Only those records vanished and the company carried on exactly as it had been for years.'

'Vanished…' Her father said. 'Like… Magic?'

Bruce nodded once.

'And… Harry?' Her mother said her hand close to her mouth.

'Abused. Probably.' Bruce stated. 'But it looks like the custody laws – what there is of them in the Wizarding world – are vastly outdated. Harry is virtually a prisoner thanks to them – until he comes of age.'

'They can do anything.' Hermione hissed. 'Anything.'

'Any intervention needed to be kept off the radar.' Bruce added. 'We needed something which could be kept under wraps.'

'We believe that a number of calls to the authorities – social services and the like have also… vanished.' Alfred stated.

There was a long pause as the adults digested this.

'So you bought the company.' Her father stated. 'I'm not saying I'm happy – but…' He considered the arguments. 'Accounts move out of the building?' Bruce nodded. 'No more skimming for Dursley?'

'He has to shape up.' Bruce said. 'It might be easy to hide – magically – in a small company like Grunnings…'

'But a global conglomerate doesn't keep a tiny piece of the company going if it isn't profitable.'

'And you get leverage over Dursley.'

'Precisely.' Bruce smiled a smile that was very unpleasant.

'I'm not happy either.' Her mother interjected. 'I still can't see why something else – less extreme perhaps…'

'He saved my life mum!' Hermione had finally had enough of her mother's criticism. 'I was going to die!'

'Exaggeration is not going to help…' Her mother began.

'It was a troll – correct?' Bruce said. 'Alfred – do you have the book with the pictures and descriptions of trolls?'

Alfred pulled out one of the books he had brought, flicked to a page and handed the book to her father.

Mr Granger took it. He audibly gulped then passed the book to his wife in the chair next to him. She visibly blanched.

Her father closed his eyes for a long moment and then spoke. 'I don't want you going back there.' He said, looking over to his daughter.

'Ahem.' Alfred interrupted before Hermione could speak. 'I regret to inform you Sir, that removing your daughter from Hogwarts is not possible.'

'Excuse me?' Her father said disbelievingly. 'She's twelve years old – she does what I tell her!'

'I'm afraid the rules that apply to Mr Potter also apply to your daughter sir.' Alfred said delicately. 'As we have noted – Mr Potter's circumstances have been somewhat manipulated by some magical means.'

Her father nodded impatiently. 'So?' He demanded.

'All children – in the Wizarding world have parents or guardians who are magical.' Bruce said. 'As you and Helen are not…'

'The school automatically appoints a guardian who supersedes you as parents.' Alfred finished.

Both Hermione and her parents were stunned.

'Supersedes?' Hermione said, turning to Bruce. 'How? Why?'

Bruce took hold of her hand and squeezed it tightly. 'They think non magical people aren't intelligent enough to make decision for their magical children.' He looked over to Alfred.

'Indeed sir. In the 1860's a precedent was set – a non magical couple tried to remove their son from Hogwarts…'

'And?' Her father asked warily.

'Their memories of their child were wiped.' Bruce said. 'Their child was made to forget his parents. It was decided that they were too big a risk to leave alone with the knowledge of the world that had stolen their child - as the parents saw it.' He saw the horror on the three faces looking at him. 'If you take her out of school – you might be lucky enough to remember that you two are married to each other.' He looked down at Hermione and then back over to her parents. 'It depends on the guardian appointed and how much risk you are thought to represent.' He paused. 'You two are educated professionals – I imagine they would consider you to be quite… high risk.'

'But that's awful' Hermione broke out. 'That isn't in any of the books I read…'

'It isn't something they care to advertise – not to those joining their world.' Bruce pointed out. 'I only noticed and investigated when I was looking into your friend's circumstances.'

'So – if my parents are considered a threat – they'll take me away?' Hermione asked brokenly.

'You have been allowed to remain with your parents – as per your guardian's decision.' Alfred said.

The ramifications of this sank in around the room.

'Wait.' Her mother held up a hand. 'Surely if Hermione has a guardian – then her friend Harry has too – can't they do something about his situation?'

Bruce and Alfred exchanged glances.

'They already did, Mrs Granger.' Bruce said quietly. 'They left him there in the first place.'

* * *

  
It was a new day. Hermione now knew what she could and couldn't do. She was ready. She glanced at her watch. Bruce and Alfred would be there in a few minutes.

She made her way downstairs pondering last night's revelations. It had been shocking. Fortunately it had led to a very frank discussion between the five of them, and Hermione felt that she and her parents were much closer than they were before. She slipped into the kitchen and gave her mother and then her father a hug before making her way to the front door and going outside in the sunshine.

Minutes later a sleek and gleaming Rolls Royce pulled up outside her front garden.

'I'll see you later!' She called back to her parents and closed the front door, before skipping down to the car where Alfred was already holding the door open for her.

'Are you ready?' A relaxed Bruce Wayne asked sunglasses on.

'Very.' Hermione said, as Alfred closed the door behind her. 'Get Harry. Go shopping.'

Alfred got into the front seat and started off on the journey across to Surrey.

'Any other plans?' Bruce queried.

'Other than kicking the vile Dursleys while I'm there?'

'Nothing like subtlety…' Bruce trailed off.

'I'm done with subtle.' Hermione said. 'They can't touch me.' She fluttered her eyelashes. 'Not when I'm the adored goddaughter of Brainless Bruce Wayne.'

Bruce grinned. 'I like your style.' He took off his sunglasses and placed then on her face. 'Much better. Never let them see your eyes – it makes them wonder who you intend to strike first.'

'Not "strike where" sir?' Alfred said.

'Definitely not "where".' Bruce said, leaning back on the seat. 'It's always "who".'

* * *

'It's so… same-y.' Hermione said, wrinkling her nose as she looked out at the streets of Little Whinging.

'Pretentious.' Alfred sniffed from the front seat. 'No class except the grasping classes.'

'Thank you Alfred.' Bruce said, seemingly amused by the sudden snobbishness of his very correct butler. He leaned over to Hermione, 'If I had said that…'

'You would be told off by Alfred.' Hermione said laughingly.

The two of them cackled, before straightening up and presenting a very proper pose for the people of Little Whinging.

'I feel like I should do a regal wave.' Hermione said as she noticed the people paying attention to the car. 'Are we close?'

'I believe we are Miss.' Alfred said, turning into a cul-de-sac. 'Number four… appears to be the one with the immaculate garden.'

'Harry's work.' Hermione said. 'He has to look after the house and the garden.'

'I shall have to consult with him about some of our gardens then.' Alfred said. 'He appears to have quite the green finger.'

Alfred stopped the car, got out and then opened the door for Hermione. They all sensed the twitching net curtains as the neighbours observed the car in their street. 'Good luck.' Whispered Alfred with a wink.

Hermione walked slowly up to the immaculate front door. She could see the net curtain in the front room move, and knew they had seen her arrive. She pressed the doorbell firmly.

A horse-faced woman answered the door. 'Yes?'

'Good afternoon Mrs Dursley.' Hermione said brightly. 'I'm Hermione Granger.'

Mrs Dursley looked confused.

'I thought I would be expected.' Hermione added. 'I met your husband yesterday – although I might not have mentioned that I would be here today… But never mind! Is he ready?'

'Who?'

'Harry.' Hermione said. 'I don't have all day you know.' And with that she pushed open the door, and stepped past a shocked Mrs Dursley. 'Harry!' She shouted. 'Are you here?' She pushed the door so it was nearly closed.

A muffled voice answered.

'Now see here…' Mrs Dursley had finally recovered from her shock.

'No you see here.' Hermione turned and prodded her. 'I own your husband's company – you can ask him if you don't believe me. Harry is my friend – and today he is coming with me.' With that she marched up the stairs and yelled again, 'Harry!'

'Hermione?' A muffled and bewildered voice said from behind a bolted and locked door.

'You locked him in?' Hermione hissed at Mrs Dursley. 'Open it. Now.'

'I most certainly will not.' Mrs Dursley sniffed and folded her arms.

'You have one minute to open this door – or I march back out of this house and tell my godfather sitting in the car – yes – the Rolls – outside to fire your husband because you were mean to me.'

Mrs Dursley scoffed.

'What?' Hermione said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. 'You think the beloved goddaughter of Bruce Wayne doesn't get anything she wants?' Mrs Dursley paled. 'Oh _his_ name means something to you does it?' Hermione said, gleefully. 'Then I suggest you open the door – NOW.'

Mrs Dursley opened the door with shaking hands. 'There.' She said unsteadily.

'Hermione?' A stunned looking Harry stood in the middle of a miserable looking room. 'What on earth…?'

'No time to talk.' Hermione said, holding up her hand. She looked at him. 'Well, you've got your shoes on – so you'll do – come here.'

Harry slowly walked over to her.

'I don't have time for this.' Hermione said, and grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the room and down the stairs behind her.

'Woah – what are you _doing_?' Harry said, trying not to fall down the stairs.

'Muuuuuum!' A voice whined. 'There's a Rolls outside – is it Dad's new car?'

Hermione suddenly stopped. She turned to Harry. 'Your cousin?'

Harry nodded, apparently giving up on trying to understand his crazy friend and was now resigned to being amused by situation. She realised with bemusement that he had learned to let her have her way when she was in moods like this.

'Right.' She dragged Harry into the living room and stopped short of the blonde boy waddling toward her.

'Mum! The freak's here – with a girl!'

Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'Dudley Dursley?'

'Yeah?' He eyed her up and down. 'What you doing with the freak? Are you a freak too?'

She lashed out a vicious kick that her godfather had taught her.

Dudley howled in agony.

'Oh shut up you pathetic moron.' Hermione said. Then she leant closer. 'And no – the car outside is not your father's – it's my godfather's.' She straightened up and smirked. 'He's your dad's new boss.' She saw that slowly sink in. 'And _Harry_,' she emphasised his name, 'is my friend. So you'd better be nice…' She turned and started to drag Harry out of the room.

'Bye Dudley.' Harry said, giving him a cheeky wave.

Hermione saw Mrs Dursley eying her from where she stood on the middle of the stairs. 'I'm taking Harry shopping.' She said. 'He will be getting all new clothes – not the kind of rags you dress him in.' She spat, and Mrs Dursley cringed. 'When I bring him back – you will feed him a decent meal. You will let him do his homework. You will not treat him as a slave…' She saw Mrs Dursley was about to interrupt and held up a hand, 'I know you like to consider them _chores_ – but they are only appropriate – if your _son_ does the same work as your _nephew_.'

She waited and finally Mrs Dursley nodded. 'Good. I hope things will improve – I _will_ be watching – understand?' She kept hold of Harry's hand as she made for the door. 'Oh – and one last thing – I spoke to my parents about what's going on here and they said one thing that I'll repeat. You should be ashamed of yourself Mrs Dursley.'

She swung open the door and marched out to the car, triumphantly dragging Harry along behind her.

* * *

Thoughts, comments, queries?


	5. Chapter 5

**Author**: serendu

**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing also DC comics and their subsidiaries. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Pairing**: None

Notes: Batman/Hp xover. Harry Potter wasn't the only person in Hogwarts with a godfather.

I confess I'm behind in writing this. *shrugs* RL is very busy and I don't have the time I would like to write. In fact – if it weren't for me having a cold – this fic would be even more delayed! For those reviews who ask about pairings – please note this fic is gen. For those who ask about the wider DC universe… there aren't any major plans for other characters to appear. For those who expect a showdown between Batman and Dumbledore… *smirks* who says that is going to happen? All the comments have been gratefully received. I hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Chapter 5. Summertime.

* * *

Summer, Harry Potter decided with an exhausted sigh, was not his favourite time of the year. He glanced up from his bed and over to the calendar hung on the wall. It was still nowhere near September and Hogwarts. He hadn't had any replies to the letters he had sent and he was heartily sick of being stuck here. He sat up from his bed heaving another sigh and glanced over at his owl, Hedwig.

'Sorry girl.' He said apologetically. 'If I could get us out of here I would. You know that – right? Stupid Dursleys.' He lay back down on the meagre sheets.

The doorbell downstairs went.

'It's probably someone for Dudley. Piers or someone.' Harry said aloud, desperately wishing it was for him. He thought he heard a voice yell his name. 'What?' He answered, figuring his aunt would soon be yelling at him for his manners.

He heard someone marching up the stairs. Then a muffled voice called 'Harry?'

His eyes widened. 'Hermione?' He answered, hopefully, not daring to breathe in case this was a dream and he woke up. _This has to be a dream._ _Maybe it's because I haven't had any food or water for a while – maybe I'm hallucinating._

The muffled voices got louder outside his door.

Then his door swung open. He got up.

A smug looking Hermione and an enraged looking Aunt Petunia stood outside.

'Hermione?' He couldn't believe it. He had to be dreaming and this was turning in to the best dream _ever_. 'What on earth…?'

'No time to talk.' Dream Hermione said, holding up her hand. She looked him up and down. Harry felt uncomfortable with his best friend seeing him like this. He was glad it was only a dream. At least in school he could hide under his robes. 'Well, you've got your shoes on – so you'll do – come here.'

Harry didn't really want to wake up yet, so he walked very slowly over to her.

'I don't have time for this.' Dream Hermione said, and grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the room and down the stairs behind her.

'Woah – what are you _doing_?' Harry said. Dreams weren't meant to be this real were they?

Then it happened. He knew it would. His cousin's voice intruded on his dream. Harry sighed, knowing he would wake up just before he found his freedom.

Dream Hermione was asking him a question. 'Your cousin?' Harry nodded, still hoping he wouldn't wake up.

He was dragged into the living room, with a slobbering Dudley.

'Waking up time.' He muttered, wishing for once Dudley got his just desserts. It never happened – not even in his dreams.

Dream Hermione was intently watching Dudley, Harry noticed, he shivered. Nothing ever good came when Hermione was that focussed in real life.

Suddenly Dream Hermione had kicked his cousin to the floor!

_Best. Dream. Ever._

He grinned down at his cousin and gave him a little wave. 'Bye Dudley.'

The next thing he knew he was out of the house and into a posh looking car.

He smiled sadly.

He really wished he didn't have to wake up.

* * *

It took Harry a good twenty minutes to realise that this a) wasn't a dream and b) he really had been dragged from the Dursleys' house to a posh car and then on to London.

And he'd met one of the richest men on the planet – Bruce Wayne.

Harry hadn't known that Hermione's "Uncle Bruce" was Bruce Wayne, although he had known who Bruce Wayne was before he'd met him. His Uncle Vernon had come home ages ago talking about takeovers and possible promotions and lots of discussions about what new things the family – bar Harry – could expect.

His Uncle considered the takeover a good thing.

Until last night.

His Uncle had come home in the kind of temper that made Harry want to be back in his cupboard under the stairs.

Even Dudley and Aunt Petunia had stayed quiet last night.

All Harry had managed to work out was that his Uncle Vernon might be in a difficult position now that the company had been bought out.

He looked over at the man sitting next to Hermione and was taken aback to see the man intently watching him.

'You have something to say?' Bruce asked.

'N…no… Mr Wayne.' Harry stammered.

'Harry?' Hermione asked, sounding concerned, 'you've gone very pale. Are you okay?'

'Fine. I'm fine.'

'Okay.' Hermione sounded unconvinced. 'Well – if you didn't catch that – we're going to stop off at my parents' house first.' She shrugged. 'I don't know why – something about an early birthday present for you…'

'Why…' Harry paused then asked something that had been bothering him. 'Why didn't you reply to the letters I sent you? Did… did I do something wrong?' He croaked, and wished that his voice didn't sound so pathetic.

'Your letters?' Hermione looked puzzled. 'I haven't had any letters! I wanted to know why you weren't answering mine!'

Harry blinked. 'R…really?'

Bruce passed Harry a bottle of ice cold water with an easy smile. Harry took it, opened it and sipped it, the water refreshing his dry throat.

He looked at the bottle and then screwed the lid back on tightly. 'I haven't had any letters from anyone this summer.' He said. 'You didn't get mine?'

Hermione shook her head.

'That's weird.' He frowned. 'Maybe I got the address wrong?' He offered.

Hermione frowned too. 'Well – I can't see why you didn't get my letters.' She replied. 'If I didn't know your address I wouldn't have visited you today.'

'True.' Harry frowned again. 'I thought people were ignoring me or something.'

A voice coughed from the seat in front. 'We're just approaching your house, Miss.' The driver said.

'Thank you Alfred.' Hermione replied. She turned back to Harry. 'We'll figure out what happened to your letters later. Why don't we go and see what my parents want first?'

* * *

'Now if Harry comes with me…' Mrs Granger said, pushing Harry out of the room, 'and you just enjoy your tea – we won't be long.'

Harry was bemused as he was hustled up the stairs in the house to a small bedroom and bathroom by a smiling Mrs Granger. He could tell where a lot of Hermione's characteristics came from – including her bossiness. She shut the door behind them.

'Now. Harry – can I call you Harry?'

Harry nodded.

'Good. Sit down on the bed.' Harry sat. 'How to explain…' She trailed off and closed her eyes, then opened them, looking straight at Harry. 'I'm going to be blunt here Harry and just come to the point – is that okay?'

Harry nodded slowly, a little bit worried as to where this conversation is going.

'Hermione and Bruce are taking you shopping later – for clothes.'

Harry nodded, inwardly wincing for needing his best friend to get him some decent things.

'Some of those shops will be quite – well – posh.' She said.

Harry grimaced, thinking of the clothes he was wearing and what might be said by the people in the shops. He'd had enough of the sneering in Little Whinging, let alone getting more in posh shops in London.

'Steve and I had a discussion last night and this morning. And while Hermione was out picking you up I nipped out to our local shops… And… Well… You see…'

Harry felt confused and it must have shown on his face because Hermione's mother sighed in exasperation.

'I'm doing this all wrong!' She said. 'Look – what I'm trying to say is that Steve and I thought you might like the chance to have a shower here and get changed into some new clothes – before you went out shopping with Hermione and Bruce.' She opened a drawer and pulled out a bag, 'I had to guess your sizes from some of Hermione's photos and I didn't get any shoes and it isn't much but…' She handed Harry a carrier bag.

Harry opened the bag. A nice clean new black t-shirt, a black shirt, some underwear and socks, and a pair of jeans neatly folded inside.

'Mrs Granger… I…' He didn't know what to say. He felt awful and so pleased all at once.

'Stop.' Mrs Granger held up her hand, just like Hermione earlier that morning. 'Shower.' She pointed to the door. 'Towels inside. Hop to it young man!' She gave him a smile, before whisking herself out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry carried the bag into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him. _It wasn't a dream_, he thought as he pulled off his trainers and began taking off his t-shirt. _It was better._

* * *

Thirty minutes later, a thoroughly cleaned and almost entirely dressed in new clothes Harry Potter descended the stairs, feeling a lot happier about life. He stepped into the room and smiled as Hermione, her parents, Bruce Wayne and the driver Alfred all looked up and smiled at him.

'How is the fit?' Mrs Granger demanded, as she approached him. 'Not too loose?' Harry shook his head. 'Good – in that case Alfred – I can give you his sizes.'

'Thank you Mrs Granger.' Alfred replied with a nod of his head.

Mrs Granger passed a piece of paper to Alfred, who glanced at it and then tucked it away.

'Right.' Hermione said, getting up from the sofa. 'I think we need to be off.'

'Shopping.' Bruce said with a smile.

Hermione pulled a face. 'Yes – mock me all you want – you know I hate shopping…'

'Except for books.' Bruce added.

'…Except for books…' Hermione repeated with a friendly glare at Bruce. 'But as this isn't for me – it should be easier.' She turned to Harry. 'Are you ready?'

Harry shrugged, loving the way the crisp cotton felt against his skin. 'Sure.'

* * *

'Perhaps Sir would prefer the green?' Alfred held out the shirt to Harry, who took it with a barely perceptible sigh.

'I'll try it on.' He said, turning back to the changing room.

'Don't worry Harry.' Hermione consoled him from where she sat, book on her lap. 'Just this shirt and then we'll go have dinner.'

Harry's stomach rumbled as he buttoned up the shirt. Four hours of shopping and he'd had enough.

He glanced in the mirror, before stepping back out to his audience.

'Very nice.' Hermione said approvingly. 'You should have been in Slytherin – the colour brings out your eyes.'

Harry pulled a face.

'Green does seem to suit you Sir.' Alfred added apologetically.

'She's right.' Bruce said, from where he sat. 'Alfred?'

'I shall add it to the garments to keep Sir.' Alfred said deferentially. 'If you would...' He gestured to Harry.

Harry turned back to the changing room. 'And then dinner?' He said loudly.

'Definitely.' Replied Hermione. 'I'm starved.'

* * *

'Do I have to?' Harry said suddenly. 'Go back to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?'

It had been an amazing day, and Harry almost felt like he had been dreaming the whole way through. If only he didn't have to go back to the Dursleys.

He watched as several glances were exchanged between the adults and Hermione, as they once again sat in the Grangers' home.

'Yes.' Hermione said.

Harry glanced away not willing for them to see his crushing disappointment. He had so hoped things would change.

She moved over to Harry and turned his face to see her. 'Only it will be different.'

He wouldn't meet her eyes.

'Look at me!' She demanded.

He slowly looked up to meet her brown eyes.

'Do you think we would do all this if we could take you away from that horrible house?' She said fiercely. 'Do you think we _want_ to leave you there? Honestly Harry…' She took a breath. 'You have to go back there and we aren't happy about it – so what's going to happen is this. We're going to take you home and then tomorrow I'm going to call and we're going to get you some decent things for your room and some paint. You can paint can't you?'

Harry nodded.

'Good – you can show me how. Then we're going to paint that room of yours and make sure you've got all your school things and you can do all your homework. The Dursleys might try and stop you – but if they do – you're going to tell me – because I'm going to be writing to you – through the post - not those silly, unreliable owls – I don't mean Hedwig – and ringing you on the phone and seeing you – as often as I can. Okay?'

Harry nodded, still unconvinced that this would work.

'And we're going to offer to have you here – maybe on weekends.' She glanced at her parents. 'But we need to keep it quiet…' She trailed off and bit her lip, glancing over to Bruce.

Bruce stood up, walked over and then knelt by Harry. 'We don't know why people haven't stepped in for your circumstances before – even though we know some people were concerned about you – so we want to make sure that no one realises we're interfering. So after today you have to go back there – do you understand?' He looked intently at Harry.

'Not really.' Harry said, 'I don't really understand.' He looked at the other adults in the room, their faces showing their distress (Mrs Granger) and disappointment (Alfred).

There was a long silence as Harry pondered everything that he had been told.

'There used to be a classroom assistant in my primary school – she was really nice.' He said slowly. 'I think she paid attention to what was happening to me and told someone.' He glanced at Hermione and then gazed at Bruce. 'She was gone a few weeks later – although she was meant to be there a year. No one seemed bothered by her vanishing - except me.' He trailed off. 'Is that why…'

Bruce's face was grim. 'We think so.' He said. 'We don't know for sure what's going on with your home life – but we're going to try and improve it – understand?'

'Yes.' Harry got it. They didn't know why and they could only guess how – but someone somewhere was making sure Harry had to stay with the Dursleys.

Harry only knew he wasn't too happy about that.

* * *

Returning back to the house, Harry felt apprehensive about what kind of reception he would get. Fortunately before he could take the bags from the boot of the car, Alfred stepped in.

'If you would allow me, Sir.' Alfred took the bags in one hand, before closing the boot with the other. 'After you Sir.' He said, stepping behind Harry.

Harry trudged up the path, ignoring all the curtains that moved in the street. Alfred walked behind him.

The door swung open, a furious looking Aunt Petunia behind it. 'Get in.' She hissed at him, not paying attention to Alfred.

Harry slowly stepped in. Aunt Petunia moved to close the door behind him, but Alfred got there quicker.

'If you could direct me to your room Sir, so I may put these away?' Alfred said, glaring at the now cringing Aunt Petunia.

Harry went up the stairs, with Alfred calmly behind him.

He pushed open the door and turned on the switch, illuminating his room with a bare light bulb.

'Tsk. Tsk' Alfred said, placing his bags delicately on the floor. 'I'm afraid this just won't do.' He pulled out a pen and a notepad. 'New bed.' He said, writing something down. 'Desk. Chair.' He looked at the floor. 'Carpet.' He glanced at the ceiling. 'Light shade and lamp. Bedside table. Cupboard. Drawers.' He looked over to Hedwig. 'Stand for your owl.' He wrote some more. 'Is there anything you require?' He said, looking over at Harry.

Harry shook his head, before surreptitiously looking over to his Aunt. She seemed even angrier than earlier.

'I don't know who you are…' She began,

'Alfred Pennyworth, Ma'am.' Alfred said, turning to face his Aunt. 'Mr Wayne's Butler.'

Aunt Petunia froze.

'Mr Wayne asked me to ensure that all Mr Potter's needs were met. Miss Hermione indicated that perhaps Mr Potter's room needed to be painted.' He glanced back around the room before raising an eyebrow at Mrs Dursley. 'I fear she may have understated the case somewhat.'

Aunt Petunia, Harry noticed gleefully, was now a dull red.

'I will be ordering the necessary supplies tonight for you Sir. They will arrive next week – after you and Miss Hermione have painted the room the colour of your choice.' He made another note on his notepad. 'I shall ensure that they will assemble anything that needs to be assembled…' He trailed off and turned to Aunt Petunia. 'Would you prefer them to remove Mr Potter's current furniture to dispose of as they see fit… Or would you prefer them to merely remove it for storage, Ma'am?'

'D…dispose it.' Aunt Petunia croaked, before cleaning her throat.

'Of course.' Alfred said with a nod. He made another note. 'Is there any computer you would prefer?' He said turning to Harry. 'Miss Hermione is currently setting up her own, I believe to ensure she can do all the accounts for Grunnings with Master Wayne's accountants in Gotham.'

'Accounts…?' Harry trailed off. It suddenly dawned on him exactly how Hermione intended to keep tabs on his uncle. 'I have no idea.' He said, dazedly, stunned by the lengths she would go to for him.

'Very well sir, I shall look into that and have something suitable sent on.' Alfred said, making another note.

The door slammed downstairs.

'Pet?' A voice called upstairs. 'Do you know what that Rolls is doing outside?'

Harry winced. Uncle Vernon was home.

'Up here Vernon.' Aunt Petunia replied, her voice sounding slightly strangled.

The thudding as Vernon Dursley came up the stairs seemed to shake the house.

'Pet? What are you…?' He trailed off as he saw Alfred. His face began to redden. 'You!'

'Indeed sir.' Alfred replied, calmly.

'What do you think…?'

Alfred turned back to Harry. 'As I said, Sir, Miss Hermione will be here again tomorrow – you will be going to…' He glanced to his notes, 'B&Q I believe to choose some paint for your room – along with the necessary accoutrements.' He paused. 'Might I suggest you wear some of your… older… clothes for the decorating?'

Harry nodded, amused by how annoyed his Uncle was at being ignored.

'After which I believe Miss Hermione's parents have invited you to stay for a few days whilst the paint dries…' He turned to Mrs Dursley. 'Any objections Ma'am?'

Aunt Petunia glanced at her husband and then at her nephew and then back to her husband.

'As I understand it… Miss Hermione will be most upset to have her plans for the weekend changed…' Alfred trailed off and waited.

Harry tried not to smirk when he noticed the glint in Alfred's eyes.

'He can go.' Uncle Vernon said gruffly.

Alfred nodded in his direction. 'After that the furniture for your room will be delivered and assembled.' He added a final note to his notepad. 'I believe that is all.' He gave Harry a smile. 'Good evening Sir.' He turned to the Dursleys. 'Mr and Mrs Dursley? If I might have a word in private?'

His aunt and uncle looked resignedly at each other before nodding to Alfred. Harry noticed the gleam in Alfred's eyes seemed to be more pronounced.

The trio headed off downstairs as Harry leant against the doorframe.

They hadn't locked him in.

He was wearing new clothes.

Tomorrow he was seeing his best friend again and he was spending the weekend away from his family.

He grinned. He had been right earlier. Today really was the best day _ever_.

* * *

Thoughts, comments and queries?


	6. Chapter 6

**Author**: serendu

**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing also DC comics and their subsidiaries. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Pairing**: None

Notes: Batman/Hp xover. Harry Potter wasn't the only person in Hogwarts with a godfather.

Confession time. I had this story planned. I *knew* what I wanted to do. And then... It changed. Big time. And I knew that there was no way I could write it any other way. So please bear with me – and apologies for the delay – I'm looking for a new job ;-) So hold on to your hats folks - this is where it all _changes._

* * *

Turn and Face the Strange.

Albus Dumbledore turned from the window he had been gazing out of. Once again the fate of his world rested on his shoulders. It was not a task he relished. Yet, he knew, others would not be able to make the hard decisions he would need to. And leaving Harry Potter with his relatives when he wasn't entirely convinced they would have his best interests at heart whilst keeping him safe from Death Eaters was not a decision he knew the members of his Order would understand.

But it was necessary.

And Albus Dumbledore would do what was necessary.

His phoenix crooned, comforting him.

Yes, he would do what was necessary. He smiled wryly. Rather than perhaps what others would consider _right._

And in eleven years a safely kept Harry Potter would come to Hogwarts.

What happened after that would be interesting.

* * *

The boy was _impossible!_ Dumbledore shook his head in disbelief at the report from Arabella Figg. She had begrudgingly written down exactly what had happened in Potter's Primary School, after he had asked her to do so – mainly because he didn't want another floo-call from Arabella where she ranted about the Dursleys and Little Whinging and how Potter didn't seem to understand her cats –and was ungrateful for anything she gave him.

He did wonder if Arabella realised just how the Dursleys treated Potter.

No matter. What was done was done.

Unless something dramatic happened – Potter would be raised by the Dursleys, safe and sound from the Death Eaters.

That he would look on Dumbledore as the answer to all his prayers would be a nice bonus.

Not something he had planned on per se, but _useful_ nonetheless.

Dumbledore picked up the parchment and placed it in Fawkes' nest.

No need to leave details like that around.

Phoenixes could be so convenient.

* * *

'Potter hasn't answered his letter.' Minerva McGonagall stated agitatedly as she reported the new intake for Hogwarts directly to the headmaster.

'Indeed?' Dumbledore leant back in his chair, stroking his beard. 'Perhaps his family are away and the letter was delivered whilst they were absent?' His deputy frowned at the suggestion. 'It has happened before, you know.'

Minerva, standing in front of the headmaster's desk looked unconvinced. 'If only I hadn't missed the address when the charmed quill was writing it.' She bemoaned. 'I could write another and deliver it personally.'

'I shall cast the duplication spell.' He offered with a smile. 'Perhaps the wards around the property have ensured the owl was unable to deliver it in person.'

Minerva looked slightly less troubled.

'The wards are rather complex.'

She sighed and sat down in front of him in the chair that was purposely set slightly lower than his.

'Don't worry my Dear.' He said placatingly. 'I'm sure there is a very good reason for the lack of response.' He leant forward and said calmly, 'it may even be something as silly as the post owl leaving before there was a response. It has happened before.'

'I know Albus... It's just... Lily... James...' She trailed off, her mind dwelling on the fond memories of her former students.

'Don't worry my Dear. Harry Potter will be coming to Hogwarts.'

The two old friends smiled at each other, before Minerva got up to leave.

'Perhaps I should pay a visit to make double sure...' Minerva began, facing away from the headmaster as she headed for the door.

Dumbledore murmured soundlessly, his fingers moving in a complex pattern aiming them at the back of his deputy.

'Then again,' she turned back and smiled down at the headmaster, 'I am rather busy with all the muggleborns. I don't think I'll have time to drop in on Potter.'

'Indeed.' Dumbledore said, concealing a smile. 'I shall ensure that Harry gets his letter. I shall send another member of staff instead – should the duplicate not be returned.'

Minerva nodded and stepped out of the room.

'Yes.' Said Dumbledore, leaning back in his chair once more. 'What member of staff would fit in with the Dursleys idea of the magical world and also not question Harry's circumstances?'

He smirked.

'I'll send Hagrid.'

* * *

Admittedly the boy was scrawny, and if Dumbledore was honest, dressed in clothes that were definitely not made to fit him – other than his robes. But he was here and he was whole and that was all that mattered.

He watched as the boy chose Gryffindor.

Apparently contacting the Weasleys beforehand had been a good idea.

* * *

Hermione Granger was definitely something of a conundrum and Albus Dumbledore did not like conundrums at the best of times.

'Well Fawkes?' He said to his preening phoenix. 'Do we allow Harry to continue this friendship with the muggleborn girl? It would ascertain his loyalties for any afraid of him following Tom's footsteps...' He said, running a gentle finger down the beautiful plumage, '... on the other hand – the girl _is _muggleborn, and she is, according to Minerva, very intelligent. Will she realise Harry's home-life is less than perfect?' He paused. 'Of course, most muggleborns adapt very quickly to this world and leave their old one behind. Thus ensuring their support system is very limited.' He gazed out of the window and watched the children outside going to visit Hagrid. His mind exploring the different options for Harry and his new friend Hermione.

'I think, perhaps Fawkes, with Miss Granger we shall adopt a wait and see policy.'

* * *

The boy looked better than last year. Much better. Dumbledore frowned as he sat, observing them as they ate in the Great Hall. Something had definitely changed.

Miss Granger leant over and whispered something into the boy's ear, making him smile.

Dumbledore noted the nicer clothes and the new, shiny shoes.

This would bear watching.

* * *

The Chamber had been opened and Dumbledore needed answers, although they were definitely not the answers the rest of the Hogwarts wanted. He had surreptitiously followed from the corridor the moment the Fat Lady had been opened by a be-cloaked boy and now he stood silently waiting as he watched Harry Potter.

Harry approached his petrified best friend with trepidation, Dumbledore noted. He cast a charm to listen to the whisperings the boy said into the ear of Hermione Granger as the boy knelt by the still form of the girl.

'... So I copied out everything so you'll have notes when you come back. And I'll send Hedwig to your Uncle Bruce to let him know why you aren't answering him – do you think he'll know anything about Slytherin's monster? I know – stupid question – he's a muggle – but...'

Albus Dumbledore ended the spell and left the room silently and headed up to the Owlery.

He had his answers.

Now he had to deal with them.

* * *

Her parents were dealt with. A simple _obliviate_ and no memory remained. Now, all he had to deal with was the final hurdle. He assessed the building he had apparated outside of. This was definitely a family with money - more perhaps than anyone in the Wizarding world – and with money came power – something he had learned over and over again in the Death Eater trials.

Nevertheless, Albus Dumbledore was not one to shun his duty. He went over the spell in his mind – a variant of the _obliviate_ would ensure that not only would the recipients of the spell forget, but also anyone who could potentially remind them afterwards of the thing the spell would make them forget. It was a simple hand adjustment, but very effective.

He had not gone to the Dursleys. Although he had been tempted to do so, he was well aware that too many spells on that family could result in problems with the warding. Hopefully what he did here would fix the problem – assuming the Dursleys communicated with the family here at some point in the future.

Dumbledore had invented the variant himself. He was rather proud of it. It was incredibly useful.

He nodded up to Fawkes who had flown up to a nearby tree. His phoenix would return to Hogwarts as soon as his final task was done.

He donned a benign smile. The doddery old grandfather act tended to fool everyone.

* * *

Inside the building Bruce Wayne smoothed out the letter that originally started in a hand he knew all too well, only to finish with a far more childish scrawl. He frowned as he remembered how Harry Potter had finished the letter that Hermione had started.

According to Harry, Hermione had been 'petrified' by some mysterious force stalking around the school – attacking those of less than pure blood status. Whilst Harry had assured him in the letter that Hermione would be fine, Bruce was inwardly cursing that his new, magical resistant toys were not completed yet. _But then_, he thought wryly, _even as good as Lucius Fox is, it is hard for him to design any equipment resistant to a force I can neither explain nor demonstrate. _

'A visitor for you sir.' Alfred intoned his face slack.

Bruce frowned, and then smoothed his face instantly into his idiotic Bruce Wayne persona.

'A visitor?' Bruce queried jovially, slouching back in his chair, 'Why, show them in Alfred!' He could just see the outline of a man with a cloak on.

Alfred moved aside and left the two men alone without announcing the visitor's name.

Bruce pulled a face, whilst inwardly concealing his worry. 'Sorry about that – he is getting on a bit. Getting a bit forgetful is old Alfred.' He smiled. 'And you are…?'

The air shimmered and the cloaked man changed to a vastly different figure.

'I'm very sorry to do this to you, my dear boy…' The man pulled out a wand as Bruce sat up straight in his chair, knowing there was no way he could reach the man before he cast the spell forming on the wand.

'_Obliviate!'_

_

* * *

_

Thoughts comments queries? I have no idea when the next chapter will be up – my focus is on rl.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author: serendu**

**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing also DC comics and their subsidiaries. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Pairing**: None

Notes: Batman/Hp xover. Harry Potter wasn't the only person in Hogwarts with a godfather.

Heh – didn't quite mean to leave you with a cliffhanger and then imply that it would be ages until the next update. What I meant was – everything is up in the air in my life right now – so I couldn't promise the next chapter asap. Thank you for all the reviews – they are much appreciated.

* * *

Yesterday.

Bruce blinked, realising he had actually nodded off with his visitor. 'I'm sorry. Was there something you wanted?'

The old man whose name he couldn't remember smiled at him. 'Not at all my dear boy, not at all. Thank you for taking the time to see me. I'll show myself out.'

Bruce blinked again. He thought that sounded a bit odd when Alfred was around, but who was he to stop the man?

Twenty minutes later he didn't even remember the man had called.

* * *

Coleman Reese looked exasperated, Bruce noted with some bemusement.

'But sir!' He finally exclaimed. 'After all the trouble you went to buy Grunnings Drills – selling it now would be...' He trailed off.

Bruce inwardly frowned. He still couldn't remember why he'd impulsively bought the Surrey based drill company and then insisted they invested heavily in it; perhaps it was part of his airhead Bruce Wayne image. He mentally shrugged, turning the report page over. Perhaps they should keep it a bit longer. He glanced surreptitiously over to Reese, noting the reddened face and sweat covered brow.

At least not selling would stave off Reese's inevitable stomach ulcer a bit longer.

* * *

Lucius Fox passed the figures over to Bruce. 'I'm thinking that one of the managers has been skimming the profits.' He stated, waiting for Bruce's reaction.

Bruce read the accounts and wondered once again why on earth he'd ever bothered to invest in Surrey.

'Have him warned.' He said eventually. 'Don't fire him – yet – let's give this Dursley a chance to correct his ways – and then see where it goes.'

'Of course Mr Wayne.' Lucius said, taking the accounts off Bruce. 'I'll make sure it is clear to our UK management what our course of action shall be.'

'Have you decided about Reese yet?'

Lucius Fox nodded slowly. 'We're keeping him – better to keep an eye on him here than let him go...'

Bruce face was expressionless. 'So no plans to do anything then...'

Lucius looked slightly confused. 'Plans Mr Wayne?'

Bruce blinked. 'Sorry Lucius – I just had a thought that there may have been some plans...' He trailed off, and thought hard. 'No – whatever it was is gone.'

* * *

'Ladies.' Bruce said with a leer.

Both women stopped, and gave what Bruce guessed what they thought was an appropriately attractive smile back at him.

'Why Mr Wayne...' The first said, making sure she aimed her chest as far forward as she possibly could to him. 'Fancy seeing you at this little party.' She bit her lip in an enticing manner.

'Yes...' The other added, as she ran a hand through her immaculate hair. 'It has been quite a while since we saw you last...'

'Yes... Last time was when your goddaughter was visiting.'

Bruce blinked at that, genuinely puzzled. 'Goddaughter?' He said, looking confused, as he slid his arms around the two women, whose eyes had widened with anticipation at having the Prince of Gotham accompanying them.

'Oh...' The first trailed off as Bruce's hand brushed her bare back. 'I know you don't have a goddaughter, I must be mistaken.'

'Indeed.' Bruce said, with a smile, wondering how dense the woman must be to think he had any godchildren. Everyone knew no one was stupid enough to name brainless Bruce Wayne as responsible for anything – let alone their child.

* * *

Sometimes he wondered if he had forgotten something important - something that he had treasured and valued.

And then the thought would pass.

* * *

What did he know about children? Bruce wondered as he looked at the documents he was about to sign to gain guardianship of one Richard John Grayson. But the alternative to leave him to the system in Gotham was just unthinkable. He picked up his pen and wrote his signature at the bottom of each page marked with an 'X'.

The lawyers in his office all looked relieved as he did so. He tried not to smirk. Dumping a potential guardianship onto a bunch of lawyers better equipped to company mergers had been entertaining. The look in some of their eyes had been something close to utter terror.

But now it was all signed and soon to be sealed. They could breathe easy.

He finished the last signature with a flourish and handed the papers over, before donning an inane smile and leaning back in his chair.

His lawyers gathered up their paperwork and left.

He sighed. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best he could do.

He just hoped Alfred would come around to his way of thinking soon. Alfred had not been impressed at the idea of any child coming to the house at all.

He knew he felt reluctant too – but he couldn't see another way around the situation.

If there was someone he could trust – he could encourage them to raise the boy outside of Gotham – away from the place of tragedy where his parents had died. As it was, he didn't have anyone. So he had to do it himself.

* * *

He wondered sometimes who the people in the photo standing next to his parents were. He knew they were something to do with his father, but he couldn't for the life of them remember who the smiling couple were.

Strangely Alfred didn't remember their names either.

Bruce picked up the frame and looked at the photo closely, before rubbing his forehead with his free hand and setting the photo frame back down on the table. He continued to rub his forehead as he walked out of the room. He was sure he'd meant to do something else rather than do whatever it was he was just doing.

* * *

It was odd how much time had passed and yet, Gotham and her villains remained the same. Sometimes Bruce felt like he was an in an endless game of cat and mouse. He gazed at the new, improved suit that Lucius had provided and tried to blank out how it felt like he would never, ever find any happiness outside of taking on the criminal element in Gotham.

And now his ward was involved too.

He refused to consider what that said about him.

It wasn't like anyone could wave a magic wand and fix things for him.

This was the role he had chosen to do. He would do it until it was finished. Or he died. He mentally shrugged. He got the feeling that the way things were going the latter would come first.

* * *

He flung himself to the left, just avoiding the final blast. He threw a batarang with incredible accuracy, ensuring that there would be no more blasts of that nature. He came to a stop and glared down at the villain now being carted off.

If there was one thing Bruce Wayne and his alter ego Batman knew it was this.

He utterly _loathed_ magic.

* * *

Thoughts, comments or questions?


	8. Chapter 8

**Author**: serendu

**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing also DC comics and their subsidiaries. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Pairing**: None

Notes: Batman/Hp xover. Harry Potter wasn't the only person in Hogwarts with a godfather. Apologies for the delay. Real life got interesting in ways I really wished it hadn't!

And now, from the other side.

Reflections.

* * *

She just _knew_ she was behind in, well, _everything_. Hermione sniffed as she looked over the incomplete booklist. It was a good thing she didn't have any real plans this summer or else she would _never_ catch up with all her school work.

She looked over at the two boys in the carriage as they travelled back to London with her.

She would just have to work extra hard to make sure she was ready for next year.

* * *

Hermione wrinkled her nose as her mother left the room. Something was definitely strange about being home. She shrugged and turned back to her textbook. She was sure she'd work it out eventually.

'… And reports of the dangerous criminal, Sirius Black, on the run. Police are warning that Black is armed and incredibly dangerous. The public are being warned not to approach Black should they see him, but report their sightings immediately…'

'They didn't say where he was on the run from.' Her mother noted. 'I wonder…'

'He's a wizard.' Hermione interrupted, holding up her copy of one of the wizarding publications she had a subscription to, showing a snarling Sirius Black. 'Apparently he killed a lot of muggles some years ago.'

Her parents exchanged worried glances.

'But I'm sure he'll be caught soon enough.' She said. 'After all,' she nodded in the direction of the television, 'everyone in the UK knows who he is now.'

* * *

She wanted a cat. She got a cat. She didn't care what Ron said. She pouted as she sat down on her bed and settled her new pet onto her lap. After all – who wanted a nasty rat anyway? She shuddered at the thought of Scabbers.

If Crookshanks did eat him she wouldn't complain too much, although she might put some money towards a new pet for Ron – if he didn't get too offended, she mused, brushing her hand lovingly down Crookshanks' beautiful coat.

It was strange though, she pondered as she relaxed, the motions of petting her pet soothing her. She had always been a big fan of cats. But when she was in the shop, some of the bats in the corner had caught her eye – before Crookshanks had appeared. She had always hated bats when she was younger. Now she tended to smile when she saw bats as decorations on Halloween or flying around at night outside the castle. Although she couldn't for the life of her remember why.

That didn't mean she liked Professor Snape though.

She still couldn't believe that old bat had given her such a poor grade on her first piece of work for the year.

* * *

'Honestly!' Hermione exclaimed and marched from the common room to the library. 'Why do boys have to be so…. immature?' She demanded under her breath as she started unloading her bags of books onto the desk.

The timeturner was beginning to get to her, she decided with a firm nod of her head.

She needed to get over their immaturity and get on with things. She still had all her homework to get done.

As she sat down and began her essay, she tried to push away how lonely she felt. She wished there was someone who would listen to her. Her parents loved her, but they were so far away and they didn't really understand the wizarding world at all.

She sighed. Mulling over things was not going to get Professor Snape's essay finished any quicker.

* * *

Okay, she shouldn't have done it – but Malfoy had definitely deserved that smack. She nodded decisively to herself. She flexed her fingers, making sure that she hadn't done any real damage to her hand.

Then she pulled a bit of a face. Maybe it was time to give up the defence lessons she'd been taking last summer. Violence, muggle-style would get her nowhere in the wizarding world.

It wasn't like she could beat up _every _pureblood that deserved it now could she?

* * *

Rescuing Sirius had definitely been an adrenaline rush! Hermione hugged her knees to her chest as she sat on her bed, hours before leaving Hogwarts at the end of her third year. She wondered what on earth would happen next year. She pulled a face at the thought of the long summer holiday ahead. Spending time with her parents was becoming more and more of a pain. The muggle world was just so… well… boring. What could it offer to someone like her? Even her teachers knew how talented she was – they let her use a timeturner – although she did have to hand that back at the end of the year – but still!

She let go of her knees and settled back down to sleep the last few hours before dawn.

She couldn't wait for next year!

* * *

'Ooooh!' She pulled a face as the furious sound left her lips. 'Goblet of Fire indeed. I'll give them a blasted Goblet of Fire.' She fumed. 'How dare they let Harry continue in the competition – he didn't even put his name in! What on earth is the Headmaster thinking?' She muttered, heading over to the section on magical contracts that she just _knew_ lived in the extensive Hogwarts library.

She stumbled slightly and then frowned, before turning back the way she had come.

'I think I should check on Harry.' She said decisively. 'He needs me now Ron is being a stubborn idiot.' All thoughts of magical contracts already out of her head.

* * *

Krum was watching her again. She ducked her head down behind her book, blushing as she did so.

'I do wish someone could explain boys to me.' She murmured to the pages. 'They just make no sense.'

* * *

He asked her to the ball. Her! She blinked at her reflection as she pulled a face in the mirror.

What on earth did he see in her – besides her crazy hair – and the fact that his fame didn't fluster her.

Maybe it _was_ the fame thing.

She pulled another face.

She wrinkled her nose as she considered the whole 'fame thing' as a possibility. Why would she be impressed by him? He wasn't that impressive – not really. She mentally shrugged.

At least she wouldn't let him down in the dancing stakes. She knew she could dance. Her father had taught her.

A stray thought crossed her mind. Okay – not her father – with his two left feet – but she had been taught by… by…

She blinked again and pulled another face. Well, whoever it was – she knew how to dance. But now she had another dilemma.

What on earth would she _wear_?

* * *

She. Would. Not. Cry.

She wouldn't.

She hugged her knees, and rocked back and forth on her bed, her dress cast away into a case, her hair already undone and her make up off, all ready for bed.

And she would not cry.

Not over stupid Ron Weasley and his stupid ideas of Viktor, nor Harry and how he wasn't helping her.

And she WOULD. NOT. CRY.

A tear slipped down past her trembling lip. She bit into her lip to stop herself from crying out and her roommates hearing her.

She curled up into a ball on her bed, stuffed her face into her pillow and sobbed.

She hated _everyone_.

* * *

Her fifth year was, in spite of Harry's crazy moods and that awful Umbridge being a pain, not too bad all things considered, Hermione mused as she gazed around the common room. Okay, Voldemort being back was something she could do without, and that awful toad Malfoy still annoyed her no end, and okay – Professor Snape still under marked all her work considering the effort she put in, but overall – so far – this year had been nice and, well, fairly quiet.

She glanced down at the work Umbridge had assigned.

This lack of practical work was ridiculous! Why, everyone knew you needed practical applications for the theory – just like the lessons she used to take for martial arts some years ago in the muggle world. She knew studying the theory didn't lead to being able to do any of the actions perfectly without practice – so why should spellwork be any different?

She smiled wryly. Of course, telling Umbridge that muggles believed in a combination of theory and practice would not help her case.

She needed something different.

She pondered it awhile.

Maybe… Harry?

* * *

Sirius was dead!

Hermione still couldn't believe it.

She had wondered about contacting Harry at home to see how he was, but had then put the thought out of her mind. She was sure he was fine.

She pulled a face as she drank the specially prepared potion for the curse she had gotten at the Ministry and pondered how she was. She was okay – but couldn't wait to get out of here. Her parents seemed to tiptoe around her these days. She shifted slightly in her bed and winced as the pain increased with her movements.

At least it was only a little while and she could get back to school.

She finished the potion off and began the next.

She hoped next year was better.

* * *

They appointed Snape? Snape?

Who on earth let Professor Severus Snape teach Defence Against the Dark Arts?

Were they all mad?

Harry needed someone to teach him, so he could make sure next time he encountered Voldemort – and he undoubtedly would encounter him again – of that fact Hermione had no doubt – he would be ready.

Prepared.

Knowledgeable.

Know more than what could be gained out of textbooks.

And talking of textbooks – she wanted him to lose that blasted 'Half-Blood Prince' one whilst she was thinking about it.

How dare he top her in potions! He didn't understand _any_ of it! She had worked and worked and worked – whilst those two lazy boys had copied off her for years! She was _done_!

* * *

She felt ill. Sick at the sight of it. How could he not know how she felt? How could he do this to her?

She watched as Ron and Lavender exchanged soppy glances and pushed away her plate.

She wanted, no _needed_ to be alone.

* * *

Coming around in the Hospital Wing, Hermione felt an awful sense of foreboding.

Something was _wrong._

'What is it – what's happened?' She whispered, seeing a figure near her.

Neville Longbottom hurried over to her, he looked devastated.

'Professor Dumbledore… is dead! He died – not long… Deatheaters…' Longbottom trailed off. 'It was Snape – he cast it – Harry saw him!'

Hermione fell back against the pillows.

Dumbledore dead?

She couldn't take it in. It didn't make sense. Her mind felt all jumbled up.

'Thank you Neville.' She said automatically. 'For telling me – that is.'

Longbottom nodded. 'I need to go – Madam Pomfrey needs some more plants from the Greenhouses.'

Hermione nodded wearily. She watched him go out of the door, before closing her eyes, her mind trying to assimilate the news.

As she rested, her memories played out of the Headmaster. She bit her lip as she remembered the kind old man was no longer with them.

She smiled as she remembered right back to the beginning of getting her Hogwarts letter, and how she told her family and her godfather.

Her eyes opened and she sat up, hand instinctively flying to cover her mouth to stop her from making a sound.

Professor Dumbledore was dead.

And Hermione Granger remembered.

_Everything_.

* * *

Thoughts comments queries?


	9. Chapter 9

**Author**: serendu

**Disclaimers**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing also DC comics and their subsidiaries. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Pairing**: None

Notes: Batman/Hp xover. Harry Potter wasn't the only person in Hogwarts with a godfather.

My apologies for the delay in getting this done. Basically – I'm ill and typing _hurts. _And now – for something rather different…

Free as a bird.

* * *

It was easy! He loved every second of it! Catch and release, flying through the air! It was so much fun!

Richard (although he much preferred Dick) Grayson smiled and bowed at the crowd standing between his two proud parents.

Another excellent performance from The Flying Graysons.

Next up? Gotham.

* * *

The house _loomed._ There really was no other way to describe it.

Dick shuddered inwardly as the car slowly ground to a halt.

The door was opened a few moments later by the driver for him. He got out of the car and glanced up at his oblivious new guardian who was already striding away from the car to the house. He looked back down, before slowly following his footsteps, the gravel beneath his feet crunching as he did so.

Glancing up ahead he saw a dark figure framed by the forbidding doorway. A man with a face neither welcoming nor disapproving. His guardian's butler he realised.

Right. Not much cheer there either. He ducked his head back down. This wasn't going to be much fun.

He clenched his hands into fists, hidden by his new itchy long-sleeved coat and refused to think about anything.

It wasn't like he could do anything about what had happened.

Even though he really wished he could.

* * *

It wasn't that he disliked either of them.

It was just… they weren't his parents.

He got the sense that they weren't really keen on him either. Oh they didn't mistreat him or anything. His room, his clothes and his new school all cost a lot of money from what he knew.

No scrimping or saving when it came to Bruce Wayne.

Spending money on him did not, however, mean that they _wanted _him there.

They just didn't have anywhere else to dump him.

* * *

Okay, he was more used to them now.

Still, he thought the way Bruce would randomly vanish a bit weird.

Especially that night he'd had a nightmare and gone looking for both of them and found the house empty. Not that he ever told them he'd had a nightmare after he couldn't find them mind you. He'd simply retreated to his bedroom and spent a very long night waiting to hear someone or something that would indicate he hadn't been left completely alone.

Now though – at least he knew _how_ they vanished – if not where to.

He was just going to sit here in the dark on the chaise longue and wait until they emerged from the secret passageway door in the music room and then ask them what they were up to. He did have a few ideas…

He hoped he didn't have to wait all night. He had school tomorrow.

* * *

'Batman.' He repeated disbelievingly. 'Right.'

Well, he hadn't guessed _that._

* * *

It wasn't easy. In spite of all the training his parents had given him and all the training Bruce had insisted on, night after night he wondered if tonight would be the one that he would misjudge a leap, or leave a fall too late.

If he were honest with himself, once his parents' murderer had been caught, he'd been tempted to miss on purpose.

Then, he had realised just how difficult it was for Bruce and Alfred to show that they cared.

He wasn't sure exactly why it was so hard, but they found it nearly impossible to do so. As though caring for him, or anyone, other than Gotham was inconceivable. Their fixation with Gotham's protection was implacable. Solid. Unbreakable.

He thought it was to do with Bruce's old friend Rachel Dawes. Her story he found out about almost a year after he moved into the manor. That on top of what had happened to Bruce's parents - it had shattered them – leaving them unable to heal.

Dick had vowed then, that he would do everything he possibly could to ensure that no one else ever hurt them ever again – including himself.

Although, he thought ruefully thinking of Bruce's current attitude to him growing up, that was becoming harder and harder.

'If it doesn't ease up – I'll have to leave.' He said, gazing up at a photo of his parents as he lay on his bed in his sumptuous bedroom. 'I just wish there was something out there to fix them.'

* * *

The corridors were familiar now, he mused as he sauntered along, heading for the front door. And although he still thought the house loomed – it was fitting considering the people who lived there. He mentally shrugged. Today felt like it was going to be a good day. He rounded the corner and smiled.

'Going out Sir?'

Dick stopped. 'Yep – going to take the new bike for a spin.' He held up the keys in his hand and grinned at Alfred.

'Will you be back for dinner?'

He shrugged. 'Don't know yet – see how she handles.'

Alfred smiled and made to move on past Dick, when suddenly he stumbled.

Dick caught him instinctively. 'Alfred?'

The man didn't move.

'Alfred?' Dick's voice was raised in concern, as he held on to him. 'Are you okay?'

Alfred regained his footing and leant against the corridor wall, his head bowed and Dick let go of him, seeing as he could now support himself. Dick frowned worriedly. Alfred never ever leant on anything.

'Alfred? Do you want me to get to get you anything? Should I call for Bruce?' Dick was already to back away and shout. This did not look good.

'Oh my dear boy.' Alfred spoke, his voice sounding as if it was far away. 'What did we _do_?'

'Alfred. You're scaring me.' Dick said calmly, hoping that his words would get through to him.

Alfred finally met Dick's worried gaze, his face white and looking as if it had aged ten years in a few seconds.

'Do you need me to get Bruce?' Dick asked, even more concerned now he had seen Alfred's face.

Alfred quirked a very small and very sad smile. 'No, my dear boy. I think he knows as well as I do what just happened.'

'Wait here.' Dick said, 'I'll get him anyway.'

He doubled backed down the corridor to where Bruce's study was.

'Bruce?' He charged through the doors. 'Bruce!' He exhaled. 'Its Alfred, he's…' He froze.

Bruce Wayne sat behind the desk, face impassive, except for the one tear rolling down his cheek. 'What have I _done_?' He uttered almost soundlessly

'Bruce?' He whispered.

Bruce jerked back, as though seeing Dick for the first time.

Then Bruce's face changed to an expression that Dick had seen before, although not as bad as this.

Nowhere near as bad as this.

He looked _furious._

'Bruce?'

'Dick.' He bit out and stood, visibly restraining himself, as though he could barely stop himself from lashing out at anything. 'Get packed. We fly to London in an hour.'

* * *

He'd been to London before of course – courtesy of both his parents and his guardian – but this? This crazy _'We fly to London in an hour_' hop between the manor in the helicopter then onto the waiting private jet with no talking, no explanation, just two men with alternating expressions of furious and devastated?

No, this was a new experience for him.

Eventually he could stand it no more.

'Okay – can someone explain to me – what is going on here?'

Bruce looked up from the pc he was using and said the first word he'd said to Dick since Gotham. 'Magic.'

Dick blinked. The amount of loathing Bruce had infused into one word really was impressive.

He turned to Alfred, hoping for an explanation.

Alfred visibly sighed. 'It seems, my boy, that Bruce and I have been under a spell for a significant amount of time.' He paused and closed his eyes. 'Around four years in fact…' He opened his eyes and faced Dick again. 'We both appear to have forgotten someone very important.'

Dick waited.

'Master Bruce… had… or rather… _has_ a goddaughter.'

'In London?' He prompted.

'In England – as far as we are aware.' Alfred answered hesitantly. 'Miss Hermione – that is her name – is English. Her parents were good friends of Master Wayne's parents…' He trailed off and then almost imperceptibly flinched as he seemed to recall more details. 'There is a photograph of them in the Summer Room…'

Dick sorted through his memory and vaguely remembered one on the mantelpiece of Bruce's parents. 'The mantelpiece one?' He hazarded.

'Indeed.' Alfred said with a sigh.

There was a long pause.

'Miss Hermione was accepted at a rather… unique school.' Alfred began, after glancing over at a stoic Bruce, who seemed oblivious to the conversation around him, intent as he was on the data scrolling in front of his eyes. 'A school for magic.'

Dick raised both eyebrows. _Well, that was different_.

'There are groups of people with magic.' Bruce said suddenly, a grim expression on his face. 'They keep themselves apart from the rest of the world. They are, as a race, somewhat backward technologically – by our standards. Most devices run on magic rather than electricity.' He paused and looked straight at Dick, 'they do not, however, see that as a disadvantage. Moreover – they see us as the disadvantaged ones – being, as we are, without the essential ingredient.'

'Magic' Dick stated, nervously hoping it was the right answer.

'Precisely.' Bruce replied with a grimace, his face conveying, for once, exactly what he thought of that particular opinion.

'And your goddaughter?'

'Hermione.' Bruce leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. 'I met her when I came back for the first time. She stayed in Gotham for the summer when she was ten.' He opened his eyes, and Dick could see a glimmer of amusement there. 'She worked out I was Batman within a day.' The unspoken 'unlike you' hung in the air.

Dick sat back in his chair, seeing that the two men in front of him were now slightly more relaxed than they had been. 'So what now?' He ventured after a time.

'We go to visit her parents.' Bruce said calmly. 'I think it is about time we found out exactly why we were made to forget her.'

Dick noted that both of Bruce's hands were firmly clenched around the arms of his chair and realised that perhaps Bruce's calmness was only being held on to by a thread. _A thread very much in danger of snapping if the right answers were not forthcoming_. But, he admittedly ruefully to himself, his curiosity was roused – and in a situation like this he needed all the information he could get.

'You said you wanted to know why.' He said. 'Do you know who cast it? Was it…' He trailed off before he could finish the sentence with Hermione's name.

Bruce's eyes flashed back to his face. He took a very deep breath, visibly calming himself. He let go of the arms and slowly steepled his fingers in front of him.

'Oh I already know who it was.' He said very very quietly, so Dick almost had to strain to hear him. 'I suspect I cannot touch him. For now, at least.'

_Curiosity killed the cat._ Dick reminded himself wildly, trying to not ask the question he wanted to, but it slipped out. '…Who?'

Bruce gazed over the tips of his fingers at his ward's face.

'Hermione's headmaster of course. A man, whom most believe, is purer than the fresh fallen snow.'

'A man,' Alfred added delicately, 'who will stop at nothing to ensure that the light side, his side, succeed in their own personal crusade.'

Dick knew, at this moment, that he was incredibly out of his depth. _I don't know anywhere near what I need to know about what is going on. They both look like someone has destroyed the very foundation of everything they know. Who is this headmaster? Why do they loathe him so much other than the whole 'forgetting spell' thing? Where they that close to this Hermione? Or is there something else driving them? And what about this other race of magical people? And where on earth can I get some answers about these people who I didn't even know existed before?_ Dick's train of thought was interrupted.

'It does make me wonder though sir…' Alfred said with the air of someone just commenting on the weather, 'what ever happened to Harry Potter?'

Bruce closed his eyes, as though the mere question was too much for him to contemplate.

'A valid point Alfred.' He said finally. 'I fear we shall have to enquire into Mr Potter's circumstances too.'

'Indeed sir.'

Dick glanced between the two faces of the men who sat opposite him before leaning back in his chair and inwardly sighing. He wished they were in landing already – but there was still two hours to go. He closed his eyes, trying to sort through what he now knew. He knew he didn't understand. He knew he was very confused.

He also knew that if Hermione's headmaster was still around Bruce might just step over the line he had said he never should.

He also knew that if Bruce didn't; then Alfred would.

* * *

How's that for a much belated update? Thoughts/comments/queries?


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